Root Canal.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted something non-poetic (GASP HE’S NO LONGER A POETINAWORLDOFPROSE) but I decided to mildly challenge my mental faculties.  Today was all in all a rather eventful day; I wake up, eat breakfast, then…go get a root canal.  Now, for those of us who are in the dark about the procedure, it is basically the extraction of a nerve from a decayed tooth.  And so, let us take a minor discourse into how I got to this point.

Guavas are interesting fruits, aren’t they?  Which genius decided to munch on one of these tropical fruits and crack half his teeth? I mean, although the tender white (or red, depending on the variation) flesh of the fruit is rather sweet and delicate to the palate, there remains a single question; why on Earth would you sacrifice the integrity of your teeth just for the flesh?  Nothing is worth the jarring crunch of guava seeds; in fact, most people spit them out.  Yet I, thinking I had the most securely founded dental work the world has witnessed, ignored all the precautions and horrifying anecdotes to try my might against the minuscule soldiers within the fruity fortress.  Crunch. Indeed, my dental work crumbled when it came to the curiously strong seeds, and I found myself with a chipped tooth.  Thinking that it was a fairly commonplace event, I said nothing of it to anyone and continued on with life.

However, the pain that struck me later on essentially forced me to go to the dentist.  I then landed in a chair for two-and-a-half hours and drooled all over myself like a teething baby.  Requiring four shots of anesthesia, I was far from living luxuriously as I desperately urged on the end of the root canal procedure.  Afterwards, I came home and rested, took it easy, so that I might have a hope of retaining my sanity.

But no, it was not meant to be, it seems; apparently, according to my parents, getting anesthesia makes me brain-dead. Wonderful!  I wonder if I can still manage to out-manipulate my mother in a war of words, volatility with vocabulary.  Indeed, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I am still far more capable in my diction choice and labyrinthine language usage.  It appears I would need more than four shots of anesthesia to lose all of my eloquence.  Despite all this, I have not yet argued with them, merely keeping my thoughts to myself.  As aforementioned, a root canal removes the nerve in the tooth, but if these rows keep up, my parents will both start getting on my nerves.  Pun intended.

Holiday cheer!

Hundred

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In a Perfect World.

In a perfect world, oh the things I would do!

Everything would change, from my shirt to my shoe.

But one thing I would like to change drastically,

The ability to write for a living, and live fantastically.

To write, to write, what a joy that seemed before,

In the midst of the school year, however, it seems like such a chore.

College essays, school essays, essays galore!

What once captivated me has suddenly become a bore…

But still, the romantic notion of writing to sustain

Is a beautiful thought that erases the pain.

We learn in Palmieri’s class to create and to write,

Scribble away children, without worrying about wrong or right!

And so, we each meander along paths all our own

Our individual styles and flairs to privately hone.

Once a week, the braver of us share a piece,

Some read hard, some smooth as grease.

And yet the grease of deceit remains a constant smear

On those who claim that your work did they endear.

In a perfect world, to be real is to live proper

No distinction between prosper or pauper.

To write for life, to live for scribbles

A wish that the back of my mind nibbles.

A dainty idea, a lyrical work, a flowing canvas of literature

Fills my mind with the very essence of linguistic grandeur.

My own name would be extolled, last name Loard, first name Whit…

But, I sigh and remember…

It’s not a perfect world, is it?