I have to memorize a poem that is at least three minutes in length for my slam poetry class. I also had to write said poem. Here it is, it is titled "My Little Zombie" and I'm sorry it is not formatted.
You're a gazer, that freaks some people. Heck, it used to freak me, but my suspicions run deeper, all the way back to elementary school, where you were an object of weird, to be NOT associated with. It seemed to that it was your personal goal to be as annoying as possible at all times. You later confided this was true, well, to some extent. You always stuck out to me from all the other little kids running around. Yes, there were the video games, but then your extensive knowledge on war and military tactics, they made you an object of weird. In middle school you disappeared, out of my life, I never even noticed, I fell for someone's blue hazed eyes and forgot everything from any past I had. That transitional phase, those years almost wasted, only to be thrown into the sharp whirling wheels of high school. Lo and behold, there you are, and you stand out even more in the crowd. Tall, lanky, light, light blond hair, pale skin and eyes. You help make other gentler creatures a sight for sore eyes. You seem less than human, maybe not even human. You brush up against me and your fingers are icy, make me shudder and turn away. And when I feel that coldness, I realize what you are. You cheeky zombie of the dark. I shy away, I can't stand to look at you, never could. But you work away at me, at my hard exterior, you need to crack me open some way, some how, for whatever reason why, I don't know how the dead mind works. I can't be rude to you, but every attack and question is politely pushed aside, quietly stored away in the cellar of my brain. Puzzle pieces to be used to crack you open before you get me. But when I put the pieces together, they do not become the weapon I had hoped for, to beat your head in, spread you brains like jelly on the pavement. No, they open the door to a new world, where I am not myself but someone else, someone who has different views. And I am intrigued and disgusted at the same time. I quietly close the door, letting no one know what I've uncovered. I'm disgusted by that world but you keep softly nudging me to that door, you think I don't know what you're doing, so you still go slowly, so very slowly. There is no polite way to ask you to stop without revealing what I've learned. Tricksy zombie. Still I am intrigued. I watch you closely, more than before, but I don't change my behavior, at least I try not to. I begin to notice things that agree with the puzzle picture, little details and flourishes that perfectly fit into the image. And I cannot stand this any longer. I want to come to you and just throw the words out there, just to see if they're true, just to see how you'll react. Throw them out there so everyone can see this evil plot. I just want to stride up and challenge you, zombie. Cuz, I mean, you really do love me don't you?!? I want to spit that at you with disbelief laced in the sound waves. But that's not how we've played the game, and it's unfair to change the rules. Anyway, you don't mean me any harm, so why should I cause you discomfort? I start to lose my ground, til I have none left to stand on, and I am disconnected from my views, floating above them. Looking down on them, they don't make sense, so I turn around and open a door in the sky, walk through it into your arms. Of course it's not that simple, it took awhile, but I entered the other world. Where you are not an object of weird, but you are my little zombie. Well, not so little, you loom over me, but that gives me a sense of protection, because even if you are a zombie, you're my little zombie. I know little is not the correct word, but it sounds good, my little zombie. Because you are, in this world, my little zombie and I love you.
