It's hard to sit on the throne
Of a palace built on paradise
When you are the king
of nothing.

Since I've been writing, its been just great

Except for the one thing that I surely do hate

My family says that, I am speaking in rhyme

Not just right now, but all of the time

I can not simply, just ask for the juice

Without a poor imitation of the great Dr. Suess

But wait, on my site, there is prose, so you say

Oh, I was much younger when I wrote it that way

Help me, help me, tell me what can I do?

Surely this problem has happened to you

I just had a thought, not a thought, just a flicker

You could have answered, but I guess I was quicker

I'll think of a word that never can rhyme

And start using that word, all of the time

I know there's a word, I once heard from a fellow

I think it's a color but not red, blue, or yellow

I hope it's not pink, cause that would sure stink

I wish it was gray, I've been rhyming all day

I know you think orange, except that rhymes with sporange

And a mountain in Wales, that a poet named Blorenge

Until I stubbed my big toe, I used to think purple,

And now I can't walk, instead I just hirple

It sure would be gold if the color was silver

But that **** little lamb, also known as a chilver

There's no hope for me, I've been rhyming all month

I'm sure you can see, that I'm totally ??????

Yeah!

"You are one in a million."
                                            - Then you realize
                                               that means there must be
                                               THOUSANDS
Just.
                               Like.
                                                           ­          You.

So you worry,
You fret,
You wonder
What it takes to
stand                                                         ­                                                 apart.
Youtrythi­ngsyouwouldnototherwise.
U do thingz you can never 4get;

                                                          ­                           All just to be
                                                              ­                                              original.

You write and profess
about matters you hardly understand.

You torture yourself
to
s            t              r             e              t                c                      h
your limits.

You educate yourself
So to think
Like no one el$e ha$.

You adopt strange habits
In fluctuating,
                                                    ­                                        foreign
                 ­                         accommodations.
Then you
                                  r                  m       ­                                  e
                                               u                             l
                          c                                    ­       b
when it all
                   slips...
                                            
           ­                                                                 ­        You almost feel
                                                            ­                                 Original.


                                                     ­                       ...away...        


You change your name,
Take on a new identity-
One like they've never seen.
Bleach your personality
And sulk behind lifeless, purple hair-
Garishly placed among a black and white world-
While inhaling toxic fantasies
That suffocate-
No, wait, perhaps they liberate-
Those things that make you feel
alive
and unique.

                                                        ­                                 You are the Original.

You are unlike any force ever know. You are the thunder's roar and the wolf's howl.
But you can't shake this ominous feeling:

                                         *You've become unoriginal

Waking up,
The smell of strawberries
Marries the air
And infatuates me into
An early morning's lust;
I'm in paradise.

Holding your hand,
Fingers intertwined,
As the radio plays
And we stay with the beat.

Leaning in,
This is the moment;
Strawberries flood
My tastebuds,
And then you blew a bubble to the size of your face.

Bathing in bubbles
That are scent-less,
And I'm senseless
And my hands roam
And your mind leaves this world.

A fire burns
And seven bodies
Bare witness to newborn
Affection-
And I swear a star was too.

But I'll never see that star.
That taste seems so vague.
I came in and burst your bubble-
Tastes sweet
Until the flavor faded.

So here we are,
A bubblegum kiss later,
With a layer between us.

Freedom to express
The reality of art,
Fantasy of life.