"shorty" poems - Hello Poetry

You know how the Lorax spoke for the trees? I feel the need to speak for my four-year-old niece. Not because she can't speak -- she can and rarely stops once she starts -- but because there are certain concepts time has yet to grant her. So until time does, I got you covered, Lucy. Mommy, you call it the "poetry" of a child's sleep, ohh 'n ahh, she's so, so sweet, I call it child's "pose." Not the yoga neither. I'm posing and rolling and cooing biding time until you're tripping on the Ambien retreating to a dream. You're only reprieve. 'Cause when your *** is asleep, I be mixing up the Play-doh, red and yellow, black and white, 'till it's 50 shades of brown, alright? Dirt pies from the backyard, put 'em by the brownies in the morning world-weary in your pajamys Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up. Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty." Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy. Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony. May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan, It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain? Over my shoulder, drinking from a thermos -- stumble in your step mean you gettin' nervous-- hand me piece of paper and two crayons macaroni orange and swamp water liaisons these coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie. These coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie. "Color outside the lines, eh Lucy? don't play by the rules," my Mommy say, but I been around long enough to know dat 'dese rules pay. Outside the lines? Is just uh sloppy. Been outside the club in front of the line with my fellow shawties. Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up. Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty." Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy. Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony. May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan, It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain? Chicken and fries three meals-a-day. Chocolate milk three meals-a-day. Tricycle boys three wheels away. Hands on your hips can't make me stay. Lego blocks lodged in your skull. I've hid the Advil. The Dayquil. Drank the Nyquil though. Alright, alright, time to get confessional. All my ***** accidents are intentional. I melt my own Barbies to feel alive. Snort glue sticks just to get hella high. Mommy, you've got a messy ketchup face. Mommy, you've got spiders in your hair. Mommy, you've got ****** on your pants. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Bi-otch. Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy. Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony. May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan, It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?

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Apr 18, 2013

Apr 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC

jj-hutton

Wrecking Ball Freestyle (For Lucy Claire)

You know how the Lorax spoke for the trees? I feel the need to speak for my four-year-old niece. Not because she can't speak -- she can and rarely stops once she starts -- but because there are certain concepts time has yet to grant her. So until time does, I got you covered, Lucy. Mommy, you call it the "poetry" of a child's sleep, ohh 'n ahh, she's so, so sweet, I call it child's "pose." Not the yoga neither. I'm posing and rolling and cooing biding time until you're tripping on the Ambien retreating to a dream. You're only reprieve. 'Cause when your *** is asleep, I be mixing up the Play-doh, red and yellow, black and white, 'till it's 50 shades of brown, alright? Dirt pies from the backyard, put 'em by the brownies in the morning world-weary in your pajamys Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up. Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty." Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy. Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony. May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan, It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain? Over my shoulder, drinking from a thermos -- stumble in your step mean you gettin' nervous-- hand me piece of paper and two crayons macaroni orange and swamp water liaisons these coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie. These coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie. "Color outside the lines, eh Lucy? don't play by the rules," my Mommy say, but I been around long enough to know dat 'dese rules pay. Outside the lines? Is just uh sloppy. Been outside the club in front of the line with my fellow shawties. Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up. Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty." Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy. Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony. May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan, It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain? Chicken and fries three meals-a-day. Chocolate milk three meals-a-day. Tricycle boys three wheels away. Hands on your hips can't make me stay. Lego blocks lodged in your skull. I've hid the Advil. The Dayquil. Drank the Nyquil though. Alright, alright, time to get confessional. All my ***** accidents are intentional. I melt my own Barbies to feel alive. Snort glue sticks just to get hella high. Mommy, you've got a messy ketchup face. Mommy, you've got spiders in your hair. Mommy, you've got ****** on your pants. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Bi-otch. Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy. Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony. May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan, It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?