It's funny that I don't know who I'm writing these poems about.

I find it funny how
The person I used to write poems about
Now writes poems for me

**** these annoying little itches
Just go away, stop playing tricks
You're acting like 9th street's ***** *******
Who act like they're tired of just ******* *****
You start with being a little tickle
A quick scratch to attempt satisfaction
Nope, you're too fickle
& are becoming a wretched irritation
I swear it's an invisible hair
I feel the *******, I know it's there
Tricking me by switching spots
**** your evil plots
Just when I thought you finally gave in
TWO MORE PLACES ITCH, I ******* can't win!
It's the ceiling fan that's to blame
Blowing the air with no shame
But I got to keep the fan going
Without it, I'll have a sweat layer profusely glowing
.....Wait a minute, is this really happening
You swear I'm not dreaming or imagining
The itching has finally called it quits
WhoooHoo, no more scratching fits
I don't think I could handle that much more
Just as annoying as it was before
The ghost hair loves to pop up at random
I can't stand them
With all their UNFUNNY pranks
Such a pleasant visit, Geeez thanks!
But it never manages to last
BECAUSE  I will ALWAYS be the one who will outlast!

In truth
I'm happy
But I used to be
Quite broken
Hence the poems
And the heartache
And the sadness
And the hurt
Of course
Now I realize
If I press enter
At the right time
It can be considered
Art.

i can't stop writing poetry about you.
it's all about you and the way
you make me happy or the way
it makes me sad that you're not mine.
I CAN'T STOP WRITING *******
POETRY ABOUT YOU SO STOP
BEING SO EASY TO WRITE ABOUT.

In London zoo a lion escaped
They forgot to lock his cage
It disappeared into the night
Hungry, filled with rage

Poor old Brian had lost his job
His life had hit the skids
His wife moved in with his mate
She also took his kids

He hit the bottle pretty hard
He started to get ill
His grandma died, he got the call
Turns out she had a will

She had millions in the bank
And she left it all to Brian
But on his way to cash the cheque
He was eaten by a lion.....

might not be bright like some on site
but know why yall want to follow me.
aint stupid but now smart at some stuff
like writing poems and spelling words
but most ain't good at either like me
big differents is i know i aint good at it
but trying to be and not dumb and
know yall don't follow me or like my
poems that are not good because you
wont me to like poems that **** from
yall on here who love people liking
what you write that mainly ***** anyways.

I laid on the bridge and looked up at the stars
Reached out my hand thinking I could touch mars
This is what poems are made of

A small glance at you with a grin in return
Stomach butterflies and a heart that can yearn
This is what poems are made of

On a swing with my friends under a never-ending sky
Jumping and wishing my body could fly
This is what poems are made of

Reading a book that makes me glad I can feel
Ink on a page can seem so much more real
This is what poems are made of

Riding in a car with the windows rolled down
A song on the radio, cruising through town
This is what poems are made of

A smile, a sob, a laugh and a grin
A story, a memory, two good deeds and one sin
This is what poems are made of

Yes,
This is what poems are made of