Sec 2 poetry assignment - "Good Morning"

One of Lesley-Anne's recent literature assignments was on poetry. The students had to study three poems and write their own rhyming poems following the same style and theme. Out of the three, the kids could choose the one they want to be graded as part of their final examination scores.

Lesley-Anne loves such assignments. I don't know how I managed to bear a daughter who adores poetry. When I was her age, I thought poetry was a blight on the literature landscape. Maybe it has something to do with my pragmatic heart - my daughter's probably more of a romantic soul than I am!

The poem Lesley-Anne chose to be graded was based on "The Armadillo" by Elizabeth Bishop. The theme is something harmless coming to harm.

It's as follows:

Good Morning

Morning has broken and I have broken
Down from your harsh words hurled at me
And humiliation from your torments in
Front of all who can see

But I can’t see, I’m blinded by the pain
Your words are knives cutting through flesh
Causing pain like the burning, scalding fires of Hell
A punishment worse than death

But why punishment? For I’ve done nothing wrong
I retreat to lick my wounds, praying that they’ll heal
But they don’t. They fester and they rot
And emit a pain I’ll forever feel

They say each morning brings a new beginning
A blank canvas to start again
A fresh start? Or a stale end?
Is it still a start if it brings pain?

But as I crumble under your insults
I refuse to show emotion
For I know you would love to see me break
But I won’t give you the satisfaction

With other kids it’s different
For it’s not words they fear
But we are all in the same boat
For when the morning sun starts to appear…

They are beaten, scratched and clawed at
Until they taste something all too familiar
— Blood, crimson and sweet, on the edge of their tongue
Combined with the bitter emotion, fear

Their haunting, piercing, painful screams
Echo throughout the walls
A symphony of desperation,
As eerie as an owl’s call

Their tormentors are like wolves tracking them down
Before going in for the kill
They can smell your blood, sweat and tears
And won't stop till they've had their fill

But those children's wounds are superficial
While mine are buried deep
And it takes a herculean effort
And lots of self-control to keep
Myself from crying, as I’m backed
Into a corner with nowhere to hide
For abuse need not be physical
To kill you on the inside

She scored 24/30 for this. I'll also be posting the other two poems that she wrote as part of the assignment.