Today was the first day of a creative writing camp I go to at one of the local colleges. Today’s topic was poetry, and more specifically, early memories. I don’t do poetry as much as prose, so critique and comment, please.

wow what a poem. I hate being the fly….but i hate even worse being the milk.

This is a bad poem. It doesn’t rhyme. lol. Just kidding, it’s okay, but I don’t know if I am really catching the real meaning (if there is a deeper meaning…)

We were asked to write about our early memories (not as bad as it sounds, the way we did it), and one of the ones that I thought of was always finding flies in the milk during recess at preschool. They had me pull a metaphor for the bigger picture out of it so it had more meaning—we were the flies, trying to get the “milk” we wanted (friends, interaction), and we were “just hatched”, meaning this was our first time in the world of school and social lives. The challenge was not to “drown in the milk” by making and keeping friends and surviving in this new step of life.

Ahh. Ok, well I didn’t go to Alcatraz—- I mean Abacus—- for preschool. hah

Don’t you mean Azkaban? Hahaha. Jk. *