(For National Poetry Month I am writing a stream-of-conscious poem per day. Each poem is a spontaneous poem single edit – could get messy! Here is Poem #13.)
Can you see him over there?
He’s the one – now hush. Don’t stare.
Keep it quiet, keep it low;
Don’t let your fear start to show.
He’s a madman round the bend,
thinks I want to be his friend.
Sends me flowers every day,
Just won’t stop – what can I say?
Always staring at my chest,
Although, really, see I’m blessed,
with cleavage beyond compare,
Doesn’t matter what I wear.
Still in all, and anyway,
He should listen what I say:
I’ve no interest in his love.
Standing near, he chills my blood.
There he is now back again,
Oh my god, he’s such a pain.
Have you heard him try to speak?
Sad and shallow; rather weak.
Men that mumble have no right,
to be hoping for a night.
I just wish he’d go to hell;
Even die – would do as well!
I hear he was born that way,
– Now’s our chance to steal away –
Quasimodo’s such a freak,
with that twisted up physique.
i friggin loved this! i wasn’t blessed in the boob department but guys always try to make me their manic pixie dream girl.
🙂 Not exactly sure what I was channeling. This poems just kinda typed itself! Maybe the mushrooms I had for dinner were slightly magical. Glad you enjoyed, and thank you for taking the time to leave a comment.
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