This is the forum where we post poetry.
(Clears throat)
(Takes a drink of water)
(Straightens out paper)
(Clears throat again)
A-hem.
This poem is called _ The Path of the Mosaic Butterfly: A Dream and Recollection of Individualized Thought Institutionalized Within the Confines of A Tyrannical State of Mind: A Haiku Written by A Man Who Is An Outlaw and A Swinging Axle of Justice at Once and All At Once in Order to Better Understand and Communicate With Thy Putrid Universe _
Written by Mal-ACHHH-ite
(Clears throat again)
You can Lee-an on me
As we walk Omid the dust
In Clementine air
(Smiles, seeking affection)
(Gets booed by the audience)
(Starts crying) I dare you scallywags to do better!
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Comments
Roses are red,
Walkers aren't blue,
My poetry sucks,
But I bet yours does too! xD
Roses are red
ANF was a hiccup
Look Javi,
Noodles in a cup
Roses are red
Ricks machete is too
Poogers mislead
IS PUDDING IN CUP
Roses are red
Poogers is too
I have some Rhys socks
That I would be willing to sell you
Roses are read
Violets are blue
Somebody toucha my spaghett
I hope it wasn’t you ??
Kenny is god
Jane tell lies
If you don't break the ice Bonnie dies.
Hurtful on soooooooo many levels...
And I find you comments about Walkers not being blue discriminatory to colorblind people.
Roses are red if you see them that way
Walkers can sometimes be blue
My poetry DOES NOT suck
Can't we be friends, or boo's?
Your rhyming scheme leaves much to be desired. At least is isn't a "roses are red" poem again.
How much moolah we talkin' 'bout heyah?
It was me
I'm sorry ?
Savaging in ruins and slaying the dead
While layer by layer our humanity sheds
Our strive to survive is to bury our sins
Just as we do all our regrets
Loneliness whispers after each final goodbye
Leaving a pain that cuts deeper with time
There’s a burning desire to feel real again
To return to those days when things were easier then
Warm smiles and full tummies
And a full plate of oranges…
Clementine crumbled up the paper and tossed it into the trashcan with a frustrated groan.
“I fucking hate poems,” she muttered to herself, and got up from her chair to get a soda.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Kenny is the Boatgod
And Jane got stabbed in the chest for hiding a baby