I Do All My Own Stunts

So I have a huge research paper to be writing today. Don't expect an evening post. I had meant to lock myself in the library for the entire day, but I doubt that will end up happening. I ended up somehow scheduling myself with something at 11:15, 12:30, 1:30, 3, 5, and 7. Yes, busy day.

I had no idea where I was going with this post, so I just glanced at the books on my shelf, searching for inspiration. I came across Bill Bryson's Shakespeare: The World As Stage (which I've been meaning to read), and a random haiku came to my mind, so I decided to post it.

All the world's staged
And all its men and women
Merely stunts people


I say "people" instead of "man" in order to be politically correct. And to have the right number of syllables. No idea why I thought about this. It's pretty deep though. Ok, not really, but we can pretend it is, right? Like everything that happens in life is fated and we are merely the stunts people who are victim to those happenings. Or not. Try not to read too deeply into any of my stuff, it's not deep.

If one day I become a famous poet (that made me laugh), let it be known that my works do not have deeper meanings and ridiculous metaphors that can be found in poetry. And by found, I mean beaten out of the poem with a stick. I can imagine poets such as John Donne being like "What? No, I did not write this poem about life struggles and the social stratification. It was supposed to be a clever metaphor for loss of virginity. What are you on?" (this is in reference to his poem "The Flea") Seriously, while most poems do have some sort of meaning, it is usually much, much, more plain than might be interpreted. If my poems are ever discussed in an A.P. English class, the discussion should be no longer than one sentence.