Everything about you is beautiful.
Your eyes, bright, but guarded,
And for good reason.
Your lips, withdrawn, curled in on themselves,
But soft enough to soothe the pain.
Things will take time,
But when you smile–
God, when you smile!–
And your eyes and your lips blossom,
Everything seems right.
Grief is the price you pay for having joy,
If I smile today,
Will I grieve tomorrow?
If my heart is so full,
Will it shatter tomorrow?
If not tomorrow,
The next day,
Next year?
When?
Maybe when I try and spread joy,
All I touch becomes grief.
If I’m aware of that,
Can I change it,
Or will grief always be the price for joy?
The earth is a big ball of blue,
Like your eyes, or the sea.
My eyes are green,
But you assure me,
You would love to get lost in the forest.
I think you might need a map,
No one comes out alive.
There is a dead woman’s food in the fridge,
And it’s starting to stink.
There’s a dead woman’s food in the fridge,
But no one can bear to get rid of it,
Either because it is the last part of her,
Or because no one has time.
There is a dead woman’s food in the fridge,
And like her,
It is rotting.
You beautiful brown brew,
Instilled with bitterness and fire.
You stunning collection of sun and dirt,
Filling me with energy and light.
Without you,
I don’t think I could survive.
Thank you,
For letting me turn you,
into pages and pages of
Nonsense.
Same time tomorrow?
She is the sun,
And she is the moon.
She is the entire galaxy,
And I am drowning among her stars.
There is no proper formula for happiness.
No scientists or chemists hidden behind machines,
Spinning circles with different chemicals and substances,
Searching for the answer.
There is no formula for happiness,
But there are ingredients to try.
A smile full of teeth,
Enough warmth to fill a chest,
Laughter loud enough to fill halls and cathedrals,
And you,
My sweet one.
To you,
In your work attire,
Scrambling past,
I wonder where you walk.
Is it to your place of work?
Or perhaps to the child,
That left the stain of apple sauce
Upon your pants.
Wherever you travel,
I solute you,
Woman of the workplace,
Who power walks her way to the top.
Write a rhyming poem about getting increasingly drunk
The first drink goes down with more pain than gain,
The sticky sweet alcohol burning like acid rain.
The next few more, easier still,
The taste beginning to resemble more than swill.
By drink four or perhaps five,
My skin starts to tingle and I feel alive.
I drink and drink and drink again,
Then the spinning starts to begin.
Still with more drinks, I fill my belly.
I try to stand to drink more, but my legs are jelly.
I stumble forward, grasping the countertop,
I challenge any man to tell me stop.
If they want to fight and tell me no more,
I shall kick their sober asses out my door.
Forget these glasses, and the ice,
I shall chug from the bottle, and more drunk by twice!
More and more, the room it spins,
If I throw up, I shall have to begin again.
I fight off the blackness and the shadows,
I find another bottle and down it goes.
More drinking and drinking on and on,
How many more drinks until my brain cells are gone?
I start to mumble, call for more,
Are we out? Send someone to the store!
I drown myself in the drink,
Prevent myself from trying to think.
The day I’ve had was one I wish to forget,
I need more drink, it hasn’t happened yet.
More and more drink, down I throw.
Where did the last five minutes go?
At the corners of my vision, the blackness appears
I haven’t been this drunk, guess I’m sleeping here.
I curse quite loudly as the floor hits my face,
I spilt my fucking drink all over the place.
The carpet is soft, and I lay there numbly,
Deep in my stomach, I feel something grumbling.
I yell at the others, my eyes closed so tight,
Bring me another drink, let me forget this night.
They fight me, and tell me that I’m already too drunk,
I yell back, but from my mouth only comes funk.
The carpet before me, though spinning and blurry,
Soon becomes yellow and greeen in a hurry.
The smell of the devil and alcohol past,
Hits my face with a powerful blast.
I try to stand up, but the churning keeps on,
My stomach a war zone, the bile never gone.
The last thing I remember, is trying to stand,
I blackout again, and stay where I land.
….
When I wake in the morning, my head it does ache,
Perhaps drinking the whole bar last night was a huge mistake…
