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Literature Text
The poems do not
Want to be written
Because the poems
Want to
Write themselves.
Anecdotes about assholes
Robbing gas stations
While disguised as
Trees clad in
Flannel.
These things come naturally
To the poems.
They cannot be extracted
Like vanilla,
Or some other cooking product.
Fetus and phoenix
Look the same
When mouthed.
If the world
Were mute,
We’d have all sorts of pregnant ladies
Talking about birds
And old ladies sporting binoculars
Getting in heated debates with abortion groups.
This is what poems would write
If poems could write themselves.
Poems would read their last words
Before they wrote their bodies
Or ate their vegetables.
We should all be poems
And write ourselves,
Write on ourselves,
Without word counts
Or line limits.
We should fill the pages
But not be filler.
This is what poems would write
If poems could write themselves.
This is what we would write
If we knew how to write ourselves.
Want to be written
Because the poems
Want to
Write themselves.
Anecdotes about assholes
Robbing gas stations
While disguised as
Trees clad in
Flannel.
These things come naturally
To the poems.
They cannot be extracted
Like vanilla,
Or some other cooking product.
Fetus and phoenix
Look the same
When mouthed.
If the world
Were mute,
We’d have all sorts of pregnant ladies
Talking about birds
And old ladies sporting binoculars
Getting in heated debates with abortion groups.
This is what poems would write
If poems could write themselves.
Poems would read their last words
Before they wrote their bodies
Or ate their vegetables.
We should all be poems
And write ourselves,
Write on ourselves,
Without word counts
Or line limits.
We should fill the pages
But not be filler.
This is what poems would write
If poems could write themselves.
This is what we would write
If we knew how to write ourselves.
Literature
Poems
Standing on my roof
Wind blowing in my hair
All alone was I
Because of my who I'd come to be
Others only stared
Then it began to storm
Salt tears on fresh rain
I fell off my roof
Sure soon to feel more pain
You caught me without harm
Even in the awful beating
Of the thundering rain
All the tourment of lonelyness
And all my inside pain
Your my sheild and Coat of Arms
My flag to show the way
After all the awful things I said
Even closer now you stay
And my heart this Rooftop Storm tonight
Forever will be warmed
By a fire I'll never let fade
Literature
I hate love poems
I hate love poems.
I am sick to death with,
"How soft are his lips",
"The curve of her hips",
I don't want to hear about these fallacies you build up in your head,
And write in your little black book to show your friends,
Pretending you're some great poet.
The world is filled with billions of topics, and yet,
Nine times out of ten,
Amateurs, with their books of words
And rhyming dictionaries,
Chose to write about an emotion, a fear of loneliness.
"Her golden hair",
"His chocolate stare",
I can't take it anymore.
One at a time, you march onto stage, and squint in the glaring spotlight
As you smile at the faceless, dark audience
Literature
Poems
Gone is what we used to be.
I regret it now; I finally see....
It's time to set these feelings free
That once almost destroyed me.
You probably don't think it's true,
But, yes, I was in love with you.
I just now realized that we're through,
And I think it's split my heart in two.
Even though I know we're over,
Sometimes I still look over my shoulder,
Hoping it's me that you're looking at, though you're holding her.
I can feel my heart freeze.....It gets colder and colder.
One day soon it will break,
But what difference does it make?
I have realized my mistake,
But, alas, it is too late.
To have ever loved in the first place
W
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A poem about poems, used as a metaphor for people.
© 2006 - 2024 squishedmuffin
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ANECDOTES OF ASSHOLES