A long time ago, in the 7th grade (a very long time ago), I had a bad teacher. I'm a teacher myself now, so I'm quite comfortable with the criteria to make this determination. She was well known for being inappropriate, often times making students the brunt of long-running, very inappropriate jokes. After a lot of introspection in the past couple years, I believe I can point to her and her class all those years ago as the reason that I, without my consent, became someone with "thick skin". Looking back it wasn't fair to me, or any of the other students. However, she is the demon I can point to and blame for allowing and encouraging such open and public critique/mocking into my life, while still taking the appropriate amount of responsibility for letting it happen myself.
I wanted to write a lot more at my inception here at PeakD/Hive, but my wife and I had our identity's stolen two weeks ago, and we both just tested positive for Covid-19. Hopefully this will afford me some time to catch up. As such, I wanted to tell a story that I haven't been able to quite nail down as a fictional narrative, so I tried poetry. Below is my first attempt at writing a poem, affectionally dedicated to my 7th grade honors English teacher. Thanks.
Dread Relentless
by Octopus
I've never been quite able to recall;
I just remember there was a plane, some pain, and a long, dark fall.
I just remember we traveled together,
soaring above the town, light as a feather.
There was no looking down,
no chance to fall.
We were just some kids in the clouds,
dancing squall over squall.
Yes, quite clearly it must have been a plane.
Do you remember the cockpit door ajar?
Of course, the captain turns to me,
and addresses me from afar.
"Why are you here?"
it asks me, calling down the silent aisle.
"I belong here!"
I cry, aware now of my height, mile by mile.
The Captain, she moves, a bitch in heat,
all eight legs, seat by seat.
She descends upon me, web and fang;
I seize, I shudder,
fall limp and hang.
A blast of frigid air,
a cacophony of sound.
A plea for what's fair,
rather than punishment or ground.
I cry out for a hold;
dragging, grabbing - matted carpets grown old.
A leg, an ankle,
and nails on skin.
She pulls me, lulls me,
screeching through her grin.
Arrested, uncontested, and defeated I fall,
She pulls me, lulls me, chain and ball.
Angry winds howl my name around me,
the now dark clouds envelop and surround me.
Only time for one glance,
no chance for redemption,
I peer through the clouds
with no stance or direction.
No wings, all panic, dread relentless,
I gulp, I focus, and come to my senses.
Clutching my chest, impaled and life fleeting,
I stare into the eyes of my demon as if dreaming.
A spider, a fiend, a demagogue.
Her eyes, her poison,
my epilogue.
