I like to write poetry sometimes, Weave little bits of my life into little stories, But this is not a poem. It isn’t meant to be a poem. I don’t feel like poetry today…
Wait, “weave little bits of my life”? No, no no no. That’s poetic. I’m not writing a poem. Let’s just say… Turn my experiences to words? No, too poetic. Write my memories… Something to do with memories. Memories are good. But not poetic ones.
Dang and blast. I can’t think of something that ISN’T poetic. Everything I think of is just too emotive or complex. Let’s just say I like writing poetry. That’s all, nothing more.
I like writing poetry, But today I’m not writing a poem. No, my pen remains poemless today. It has woven tales of woe, tales of loss and worry, but today it weaves only– What the heck? How on Earth did that even become poetic? I’m not even using a pen, I’m typing this on a smartphone. Well, enough is enough. NO POETRY TODAY. …OK. Let’s try again.
I like to write poetry. But today I’m not writing a poem, because I don’t feel like it.
There. Done. That’s all. No more. Zip. Nada. I’m stopping before it goes poetic. Go away now. What even is a poem anyway, if not lines on a page, Arranged with language and structure in mind, Or maybe not. Maybe some deeper meaning, maybe not… Hold on… Why am I writing like this? Why all the line breaks? …eh. It doesn’t matter. Come to think, anything could be a poem… Oh God. Looking back at all this I’ve just written… I’ve just written a poem, haven’t I? Well… Drat.
My muse is like an excitable dog. It catches sight of totally random things and starts yapping and running around and wagging its tail and WILL NOT STOP until I write a poem about it.My poetry is sometimes based on personal experience and sometimes on other things. Aside from that, I enjoy video games (My favourite game series is Mass Effect) and the popular television show My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
Strangers from incident, lies for distance, pitfalls of living infrequent, Rushes of sympathy pass over like fever sweat. In concurrent motion the wolves swarm on the lifeless carcass. Impending emotions fill the hole in my stomach, my chest continues to
The tears were walking along with laughter. My face was roasted. The fish-men were moving the political wheels. As the chaos was widening, the humming birds started to depart. And the seeds were catching fire from anonymous snipers. The candle
In the sea of flesh: pomegranates. I will not say what I mean. In nameless pit of hollow breast, a parting kiss of poetry. I will count my steps tonight. walking on tectonic plates before the quake hits. It was
To conquer my desire, I chose to battle alone. Armed with hope, Strength and courage Holding weapons of determination and perseverance Struggled, fought till the last blood sheds But.. Lost!!!!Defeated!!! People say “Life is like licking honey off a thorn”….Yes