Farmer John is up
It's early in the morning
A cup of Joe
Is what he needs to go
Barbershop, clean cut
The sun is bright and pearly
Some shaving cream
Will put you in a dream
A cup of warm milk
On winter's eve
Is all you need
It's warm, it's wet, you peed
The sheets rolled up and dripping down the stairs
I don't think mom or dad will really care.
im not fond if talking about *****. its gross. ***** is gross.
To deliver a smile
Is to wrap it nicely
In some soft tissue
Of pale blue
Or, softest hue
Next, place it in a box,
Fitting To keep it safe.
Four walls fitting to hug it snug.
mail it to me
or whoever may be
in your mind, cherie.
No qualms because we all need a smile
one that glimmers like jewels in the sunlight.
One that’s as wide,
Stretching as far
as the eyes,
One that sets flutters
a flap flap flap in the heart.
To deliver such a smile,
I can’t even tell you is a
Life in short,
You're born, you try.
You smile and Laugh,
You love and cry.
You search your soul
And wonder why.
You figure it out,
And then you die.
It helps me feel better about myself by putting my emotions into terms that everyone will understand, for example:
My life is like a joke with no punchline.
Maybe more like I’m telling the joke, and I forgot the punchline,
so now we’re both sitting here awkwardly trying not to feel too bad for me.
It probably wasn’t even that funny anyway.
My life is like a poorly written sitcom that only lasted for a season because no one could emotionally connect with the main character.
Almost like there was no budget—
And it’s just me, sitting in front of a camera screaming.
My life is like going to get a steak and cheese, hold the mushrooms, and not only are there mushrooms, but they’re cooked into the meat so you can’t even take them out.
Alright, maybe my life isn’t that bad.
I don’t know how to say that I can’t get up in the morning.
That I am Jesus, my demons are his disciples, and this bed my cross— I am nailed to it.
Instead I tell you that everyday feels like a Monday, even the weekends.
I’m not great at anything, but if I was to pick my biggest accomplishment,
it would be that no one knows when I’m joking anymore.
I just hope that when it’s my time to go, i’ll be forgiven for making it so hard to know me.
Who, what where
Cat, sat, mat.
As I write,
I think of all the words that could be,
And how I can mold them to sound more like me.
That's where I come into trouble.
What I sound like,
And what I want to sound like are both different and the same.
I think I sound like I know,
I want to sound like I know,
I really sound like I don't.
This poem was written when I was really frustrated with how my poems ended up after I wrote them. Sometimes, I think they sound awkward and cheesy or not good at all.
A piece of fragile glass,
Coated at the back with a compound of Chemistry.
Borns a mirror without a mess;
Beautifully decorated like a tapestry!
Round and square, big and small,
Carved with precision or life added with colours mix.
Cheap or with prices tower tall;
Shiny items keep customers in a fix!
Rome wasn't bulit in a day,
So were these wonderful things.
Creator's a Roman, the books say;
Creator's an amazing mind, in my mind it rings!
A pool of still water, then the fire,
Then came metals with some lustre;
Smooth glasses back-coated with metals was in fashion then, Sire.
Winner of the feat was none but silver with a remarkable posture!
A poem narrating the story of the origin of mirrors by Mirror (from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs) itself or rather himself!