There's Writing!

I wrote a poem! Read please.

~~~

There's writing in the Women's Restroom

On the first floor of the Wilson Library

If I were to postulate on its genesis

I would posit that

Someone was bored

Undoubtedly the Janitor attempted to wash it off

But the damage had been done

Someone else attempted to be profound

And it almost worked

At least, in the form of a

Regurgitated trite

There was also a poem

Which looked like it belonged on a Myspace

Or in the shiny black book of

An eyeliner'd teenager of androgynous nature

On the stall door

Stretched before me

A kind of physical forum

Where these porcelain philosopher's

Bandied advice regarding alcoholic ex-boyfriends

For one who probably never returned

Assuming she wasn't run over by said douchebag

There's writing on the walls of the Women's Bathroom

On the first floor of Wilson Library

And as I read the scrawled words

(Admittedly better than my handwriting on paper

Perhaps tile is easier, must investigate)

I pondered possibilities of joining these

Thinkers on the fundamentals of life

While performing...

One of the fundamentals of life

Adding my mark to those

Digesting these distressing problems

While distressing about digestive problems

And while considering how I would want

To be read and remembered for

As long as it takes to wash your hands

(If you do it right, it should take

as long as it takes to sing Happy Birthday twice.

You just tried it, didn't you?

Well, it should have taken 40 seconds, you weirdo)

I cam to a conclusion

While I am against the defacing of public property

There should be more respect within college students

There is something to be said for how

Much less pretentious than other means of

Expressing opinions

Than what I or most people do

What with blogs and Facebook messages

And other passive aggressive slanderings

Maybe that's why no one has erased the pen yet

To remind us that wisdom can be withdrawn from

Places where most just deposit

There's writing on the door and walls

In the Women's Restroom

On the first floor of the Wilson Library

There were juvenile rhymes

Of love and loss

Happened several times

Some, a comment toss

Some offered words of advice

On matters of friends and life

A kindly word, free of price

For a pants-down stranger's strife

There's writing on the doors and walls

Of the first stall on the left of the Women's Restroom

On the first floor of the Wilson Library

I probably sat there far too long

My elbows welted my knees

Someone whistled an off-key song

And I think I felt a breeze

And as I thought of what to write

My mind went blank as glass

Now I realize that I

Am fifteen minutes late to class.