"rhymey" poems
I've decided
I don't care anymore
Hey Soph, wanna go
Kiss my boyfriend?
Have fun babe.
Hanna! Hey! Wanna call all my
Other friends worthless losers
To my face? Cool.
Lauren. Keep on spreading those rumors,
Knock yourself out.
Because
I
Don't
Give
A single
****
Anymore
Oh and sorry this isn't all rhymey and ****
Not everyone's creative
But everyone has problems
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
I’m not always a fan of poetry - if I actually take time to ponder it
- it can be so irritatingly rhymey, kind of fussy and needlessly intricate.
Compare my love to a summer’s day and I’ll probably yawn and walk away.
Take a nuanced look at the transactions of *** and consent,
and as adults, we may wonder where the romance went.
You know, it only happens once in a while,
that someone with wit and individual style
comes along with something to say
and scribbles it down in a poem or play.
Here’s to the creative visionaries,
to Dickinson's unique and dreamy imagery,
to Shakespear’s highly stylized, run-on sentences
that manage to speak to us over the centuries
or challenge our stifled, bourgeoisie banality
like Nabokov’s use of stunning vocabulary.
Apr 12, 2022
Apr 12, 2022 at 5:51 AM UTC
Every time I look at you,
my heart skips a beat.
Every time you kiss me,
you sweep me off my feet.
When you say my name,
and when you say you love me,
My body feels weightless,
then I know we're meant to be.
When I hear your heart pound,
Oh, how I love the sound.
Of what belongs to me,
I wish the whole world could see.
The Love That We Share,
The Things That We Dare.
Just So We Could Be There,
Together Unaware.
Of Our Noisy Surroundings,
Just The Noise Of The Pounding.
Because In My Heart I Know,
This Love Will Surely Grow.
Into An Unbreakable Feeling,
Until The Day I See You Kneeling.
Asking For My Hand, For Me To Never Let Go,
After That Day, We Will Remember Years Ago.
When We Were So Young,
The Day Our True Love Begun.
Until That Best Day Of Our Life,
When You Make Me Your Wife.
Always Remember,
This Day In December.
That I Wrote This Rhymey Thing,
Even If Its A Day In Spring.
I Will Always Love You,
Just Know That's True.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 11:14 PM UTC
Too afraid to be creative
Because I know it wont end nicely
people will get upset if you don't
say what they want precisely
and I like my little molds
of phrases that are rhymey
its easy just to talk about popular things
without feeling oh so slimy
just be vague, no taking sides
unless there's an obvious winner
then log off without thinking twice
and try to choke down your dinner.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
I wrote you a poem.
You said that you liked it.
I added a ****
You could say that I spiked it.
You left me no comment.
You said not a word.
Now it sits there unwanted.
My poem's now curd.
I could write you another.
A little less rhymey?
Something romantic.
Not nearly as grimey?
I'll leave out the ****
The ***** and the lows.
I could write you of sorrow.
Of heartache and woes.
Just tell me dear reader.
What do you want?
Love and raw passion?
Except leave out the -unt?
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 10:38 AM UTC