How to Write Imagery Poems (and Still Feel Empty)
I sat in the library, hunched over a notebook, trying to force beauty out of exhaustion. They say an imagery poem should make you taste the air, feel the grit under your nails, hear the world breathing. I tried. I listed senses like a checklist, like it would make me a real writer, or at least a passable student.
But every line felt like a performance. I wrote about the smell of rain on concrete, but all I could actually smell was burnt coffee and the anxiety of everyone around me. I wrote about the sound of laughter, but the only thing I heard was the tick of the clock counting down the hours I’d already lost to this assignment.
They tell you to go outside, observe, let the world in. I went outside and felt nothing. Just the pressure of getting it right, of making something worth the grade. I circled words, crossed them out, rewrote the same line until it was hollow. I read other poems and felt smaller each time, like I’d never find the right details, the right feeling, the right anything.
I turned in my poem and walked home in the dark, thinking about how much I wanted to care, and how tired I was of pretending that I did.
#AcademicBurnout #PoetryPressure #CollegeReality #Education
