Okay, so I'm an Oscar Wilde geek, and reading his pieces has gotten me very interested in writing poetry in prose. It's pretty much just poetry written in the form of a paragraph, sometimes rhyming, sometimes not, sometimes metrical, sometimes not. This is the first one I have written and feel free to be honest. I know it's a bit depressing.
When I was a child, my father lost me in a baseball field. I walked around and around, tears building an ocean, until I was discovered again. As I grew, reality became distant again. In recent times, I’ve come to feel as though I was never found, and my soul is perpetually circling, like a dead insect around a drain, as the world is sucked away from me. Someday only I will remain, a broken degenerate forever stranded at the bottom of this sink.
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I love writing and even majored in Creative Writing in college so allow me to extend you a greeting from the welcome wagon (your future contains a lot of drinking and sad lonely nights!) lol just kidding- but seriously.
I get the feeling that the story of being a lost child in a baseball field is a true one which if so is a nice balance to your simile of being a dead insect being flushed down the drain. The two different references of being lost do seem slightly disjointed. Keep working on it and it will come together. :D
