I could make a stance

And dance their dance

I could yell like them

To be on the attention stem

They say opinions are facts

They ready verbal attacks

They say they have spoke

But are we really that woke?

Give me credit on “artwork” and creativity

Grade me on my unchallenged point of view

If I put random sentences on the page,

Do I get an automatic pass?

Give me a rule

Give me a guideline

Judge my boundaryless writing

I put an apostrophe and indented

That’s normally against the rules but

I can break any sentence off

At any point

Because this is free verse

Poetry

What makes free verse free verse?

“No rules but write poetry”

What makes it poetry if it has no rules?

All I do is unconventionally write

I’ve learned to not hate poetry over the last few months

But that doesn’t mean I like it but I accept it

Poetry isn’t always supposed to make sense

You don’t have to “get it”

It can just be

It can just exist for no reason even

It can be all about interpretation

There doesn’t have to be anything special about it

But sometimes there is

One person could say

“This poem is about his interpretation on what poetry is to him”

They would be correct

But that may not have been my goal for people to see that

My goal for this poem is of course to pass a class

But all poetry whether you like it or not can find meaning with someone else

There’s no should

No shouldn’t

No couldn’t

Infinite could

I’ve learned poetry

Dame Time

May 2, 2014 in Portland, Oregon is when it happened. The Portland Trailblazers were playing the Houston Rockets i the first round of the 2014 playoffs. The Blazers led the series 3-2 and were looking to close out the series but the Rockets weren’t going down easy. With 15 seconds to play, the game was tied at 96.

James Harden sizes up Wesley Matthews and drives in, shooting a mid-range jumper. He misses the shot but with 0.9 seconds left forward Chandler Parsons grabs the rebound and lays it up. Rockets 98, Blazers 96. The Trailblazers players are shocked. The chances of winning the game are slim to none. The Blazers call a timeout to draw up a plan and advance the ball to half court to inbound. The Blazers haven’t made a three point shot for the entire fourth quarter, but they know a three will win the series and that’s the shot they have to take.

Inbounding at half court is Nic Batuum. Aldridge was battling Dwight Howard down low for positioning in case the Blazers miss. Damian Lillard is on the other side of the court being guarded by Chandler Parsons. The ref hands the ball to Batuum and the Blazers set a double screen for Dame to curl around the defense and catch the ball with Chandler covering him. The double screen that coach Terry Stotts drew up gives Lillard enough space to get a shot up over his 6’10” defender. Lillard quick releases, getting the ball out of his hands with 0.4 to go. The shot is up, arching high above the backboard. The commentator yells, “It’s Lillard, he got the shot off! Good! Good! And the Blazers win the series for the first time in 14 years!” Nothing but net.

The stadium erupted with cheers and roars that all blended into a white noise sound. The Rockets players and bench were all in disbelief but the Blazers bench and staff took to the court and surrounded Lillard, hugging him and celebrating. Streamers fell from the ceiling as Damian hyped up the crowd.

Watching that clip still sends chills down my spine. He sent Houston home in fashion. At the time I was only learning about the NBA and didn’t even know who Damian Lillard was. But when I saw that video of him winning the series for the first time, he became my idol. His confidence, his swagger, and passion for the game made me want to watch and play and surround myself in basketball. I strive to be in a position of having that opportunity to take a shot like that.9

5 7 5

I gotta get five

Now I gotta get seven

This time I got five

Dripping Too Hard

What about the music?

The new, the old, the knowledge.

Sex, drugs, ice, lean, cash.

The topics of today’s rap.

What about your influence?

Isaac McGill

Rhyming Poem

I could make a stance

And dance their dance

I could yell like them

To be on the attention stem

They say opinions are facts

They ready verbal attacks

They say they have spoke

But are we really that woke?

Isaac McGill

Purpose

Poetry has no meaning to me

It doesn’t seem necessary

Why not write to be straight forward?

Why not write bin complete sentences?

This is poetry for some reason

They say poetry has no rules

Than what makes poetry when it has no guidelines?

I’m told to be creative and then graded

Why be graded on something with no rules?

Anyone can say anything is art or poetry

As loving as they say soi

Poetry is about point of view

Perspective

But I’m being graded on it

It feels conflicting

Why is poetry poetry?

Poetry feels like an excuse for bad writing

Regular writing is just as descriptive

But why jumble my sentences and call it art?

Poetry may be bad writing

Writing may be formal poetry

They’re different somehow

But are made almost identically

Why is writing writing?

It was Saturday morning and I had just woken up after the best high of my life. But that didn’t really matter. I crawled out of bed and lumbered my way over to the kitchen. I grabbed some cereal and poured it in a bowl. Then milk. As I was eating I heard the doorbell. ‘C’moooon!” I exclaimed. I had just woken up and I wasn’t tryna talk to a damn Jehovah’s Witness. I opened the door to find a white box. Like one of those perfect cubes you’d see under the tree in a Christmas movie. I couldn’t see whoever left it and there was a red note folded in half and taped to the top of the box. I called out “Hello?! Who left this?” There was no reply. I picked up the box and brought it inside, placed it on the counter, and crossed my arms, staring at it. Before I opened the box I read the red note on top. It felt delicate. Like the paper was just made today. It was crisp and smooth.

I opened the note and it read, “You may be gifted $100,000. But at the price of 50 lives.”

“This is ridiculous.” I thought. “What kinda cliche, cheesy crap is this?” Before I did anything with the box I decided to text my girlfriend, Olivia. I started texting. “Hey babe, did you send me a white package?”

She replied fast. “No why?” I told her that it randomly showed up out of nowhere and told her to come over to see it. “Omw Stan”, she replied.

I had forgotten about my cereal. The Rice Krispys were fluffy and soaked full of milk. “Nasty.”, I said when I looked at it. I read the note over and over. “$100,000 seems pretty nice…but I know it’s bullshit.” I opened the box to find a light switch connected to something that looked like a transmitter. It kinda looked like a walky talky. It was wrapped in tape and messily screwed together. “This is sketchy as hell.”, I thought. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to wait until Olivia got there to do anything but I flipped the switch out of instinct. “Shit I probably shouldn’t have done that.” I looked at my hand. I didn’t switch it my hand did. There was a loud piercing beep from the transmitter. I put my hands over my ears, dropping the device onto the counter until the beep stopped. Then there was nothing. Just nothing. I expected more but I guessed that was it.

I decided to leave it for now and go watch the news until Olivia got to the house. I plopped down onto the couch and grabbed for the remote. But I was still tired so I tried to use the force to bring the remote to me. Of course I still didn’t have the abilities of a Jedi. So I leaned forward, grabbing the remote, and turned on channel 17 news. The anchorman started talking, “In other news today the…” He stopped, grabbing his chest and leaning over his desk. You could tell by his face that he was worried. He looked like he was forcing a smile but his teeth were just clamped together. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and the camera turned off. “We’ll be right back!” the screen read. I was kinda freaking out. I had probably just seen someone die.

I went outside to get my mind off of the news anchor, the box, and the weird day I was having. I sat down on my porch and reached into the pocket of my sweatpants, pulling out a lighter and a cigarette. Before I had a chance to light the cigarette I looked up and saw a woman walking her dog across the street. I paused. She looked just like my mom. Just uglier. Her little fluff ball of a dog was prancing beside her, minding its own business when out of nowhere a muddy pickup swerved into the sidewalk, practically flattening the woman. My whole body jerked and I shot up off of my porch. Both the lighter and cigarette flew out of my hands. I ran inside now, realizing what was happening. I stumbled into my room, fleeing from the scene.

I understood. “I’m killing everyone that I see…it’s the 50 lives that the note said.” I heard a car door shut. “Shit! Its Olivia!” I ran over to the door but before I could cover my eyes she opened the door. I got a glimpse of her hand and fell to the floor on my knees. She walked all the way into the house.

“What’s wrong Stan?” She was staring at me. She looked scared but she clearly wanted to help.

I looked at her and said, “Why didn’t you knock? WHY DIDN’T YOU KNOCK???” I was crying. Not even crying but bawling my eyes out.

She walked over to me, “Stan what the hell? What’s wrong with you?” As she walked over to me the pointed toe of her high heel got caught on the carpet. I saw her glide down towards the floor in what seemed like slow motion. Before her body could hit the floor the corner of the coffee table dug into her temple. Her head slammed the table and she fell over onto her side.

Her shoulders started to shake and her mouth was slowly foaming. “No no no, oh God Olivia!” I crawled over to her and put my ear to her chest. Her heart was beating fast. I grabbed her shoulders to stop her from shaking but she kept on. She started making choking noises and her chest was shooting up into the air. She suddenly stopped moving. I still had my hands on her shoulders, and I was staring at what was my lifeless girlfriend. I leaned over, wrapping my arms around her to hug her and whispered. “What am I supposed to do without you?” I didn’t want to live anymore. I was hurting people and I was going to keep hurting people if I didn’t do something. “Goodbye Olivia…” I let go of her and gently and placed her body on the floor. I slowly stumbled my way to the bathroom. “This is it.”, I said to myself. I looked up at the mirror and-

This is my site.