Virgo

I'm not really sure what I'm doing with this poem challenge.  I feel like I probably shouldn't write about the zodiac signs on a whole because that's going to be full of horrible generalizations that no one will like.  And I'm not sure how I can do something from the perspective of the sign, unless...my creativity died.

Or I'm just lazy.

Let's go with lazy, because I'm not sure how or where I could bury my creativity if it really passed on.

Okay.  But typically there's a list of famous people that go along with the sign.  New idea, I'll write something from their perspective, but slant it with the zodiac.  Or from the perspective of a constellation.  That might be cool.  Or maybe from the perspective of the "ruling planet," or one of the lucky numbers.  I suddenly feel like I might have a better handle on this now.

So I apologize for the craziness that is the Virgo poem and how it's not even a little finished (I promise that one day it will be better and finished), but here we go.

April 5, 2013

Everyone begins as Virgo,
the late summer, early autumn,
awkward in-betweeners
grabbing on to the hem of chaos
and trying to fold it up neatly.
Holding a magnifying glass
over the seams
to see if the threads match.
And if they don't,
someone will be notified.

On another note that's completely unrelated to poetry, I cooked food yesterday.  Not only did I cook food, but it was delicious.  And I made it that way on purpose.  I'm not sure how it happened, but I'd like to thank all the kitchen gods and the gods of fire for blessing me and not burning down the house.  It'd be really unfortunate if my parents came home to a pile of ash and a note saying, "Sorry, I was making dinner..."  Oh, and the chicken cooked all the way through, so I didn't die.

Note to self:  don't watch half a dozen vlogbrothers videos before writing a blog post or you'll be thinking at the speed and tone of John Green's speaking voice.

"Once a Virgo doesn't like you, they probably won't ever like you again."

- Unknown