Sylvia Plath

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 Today for some reason in my college Literature class, my lecturer told us to find three natural items that reflected our emotional state at that very moment.

Although I thought this was an odd thing (after all, my college is basically Concrete Campus Capital, with a side order of Metal and Glass) I hopped to it, merrily leaving the classroom - except not, since today has been pretty horrible, actually - and walking outside into the bitter cold. Dodging my six foot three classmate as he leapt gracefully out of the nearby bushes like a stoner gazelle having found the big stick he wanted, I immediately set upon finding a nettle plant and something thorny or at least black for myself.

(It was that kind of day.)

After using my cardigan as a makeshift glove to pick my nettles I headed back inside with my spoils (a dandelion, a nettle leaf and a reedy husk) and was promptly told that I had to write a Haiku with the 5-7-5-7-7 syllable scheme about my emotions, based on one of these items.

I Do Not Do Poems.

However after we'd vomited up our drivel and our teacher had told us to go she pleaded that could some of us, please, anybody submit our tweaked and edited poems to her for publishing (anonymously) on the college's intranet for the "poem a day" scheme, and what can I say?
I've never been one to refuse a desperate forty-something English teacher who genuinely thinks that Freud is a good person to psychoanalyse her students with.

Anyway, if someone is indeed reading this harsh crit would be appreciated - I'm convinced I need to work in 'trodden' somewhere. 
~~~

Today
I feel fragile and
Broken, half a nettle leaf
Full of poison sting.
Covered in glass-sharp needles
That shatter under your skin.