a poetic thought.

Today I spent many hours in the basement of the Dana Porter library in search of inspiration for my next poem for my beloved/loathed creative writing class. I've discovered that particular room lacks poetic inspiration, although I am left with pages of scrawled notes and cryptic drawings and an orphaned stanza, that may never be part of a poem.
Having been up since five a.m. doing projects and going to class, I was having one of those days.

insecurity:
Ten seconds ago I was happy in
loose-life pony tail,
yesterday's sweater and
last fall's shoes until
you looked at me and
I forgot myself.