Is poetry supposed
to rhyme?
My mind wants you
to walk through a
maze but you don’t
have the time TO.
I post a new topic
Critique It Critic.
Creative Writing to
me is something
Crazy,Difficult,and
Spontaneous.So It’s
Ok to get mad.Get
It out. I love Angry post.Come on
Post something so
you can get tossed
out like bad
cauliflower. I have
the freedom to
twist words until
they S c r e a M!!!
I don t have to use
periodsThat’s what
Acceptance!!! Is
all about. 1 human
being said ill call
It poetry.
say somethin’man
dats da plan don’t
matta howya say
what ya sayin’ so long
as the long and the
short side of it speaks
meaning, careening
down hills, up trails
down crevices deep
can shout to the rooftops
hush rush of the street,
prepare the limerick
or haiku if you can
but for holy christsake
just say somethin man
are you
ill
or are
you just
slipping thumbtacks.
into our
chairs so that the
one who truely
understands
will be
revealed in
the end.
maybe we should
eat a
book to.
quench our
thirst for poetry.
needs no question
marks no
commas
and. no
exclamation points.why
is not an
option
and your negative
expression.
is useless
in that scenario
for we
live for peircing your
dick. with
our horrid
“poetry” to
see your
reaction we.
breathe to
make you want
to shove.
your anger
down our
throat
s
and we urinate
on the
rational
Oh dear, I believe that “piercing dicks” belongs in Mundane, embrace. Now, now children, did you all have a cranky day at summer camp this afternoon? 
Roses are
red
Violets are…
violet
Poetry is cool
cause you can style it
But writing
like this
is stupid
This I dread
too bad
mr globo
that
youre conforming
to it
yourself.
go have
a chill pill
Pill? bleh… more like a joint
Words
the graffiti of intellect
dance throught the halls
of the empty apartment behind the eyes
and single out the neighbors waiting for something to happen
but it never does
and why does one smile
but for the image of noise and some greater perspective
all the while the truth is
excepted
accepted
redirected
I will not write like that.
it is not right to write like that.
I cannot be fruitful to be right.
I cannot write to be right.
I cannot think what I write.
I must read what I’ve read.
The sky is blue my eyes are red.
in my blue eyes the sky is red
in your red sky
my eyes dont cry
but if you could fly
we both could get high
stuck on mars alone.
feeling like every other drone.
missing the blue of earth.
the planet of my birth.
my eyes are icy blue.
it’s such an enchanting hue.
The skies red is pressing down.
I wait for night’s wonderful gown.
I feel like I’m floating now.
like a ship’s prodding bow.
I don’t know where I’m heading.
I don’t know where I’m heading.
the final destination is known.
is my chance at redemption blown?
The weight is pressing on my shoulders.
Morality or mortality, crushing me like boulders.
No one has any sense of reason.
Winter brings a certain chill to the season.
Icy cold, frail, thin, somber.
Slowly I try to clamber.
I’m sinking in the quicksand of life
I’m trying to breathe through the strife.
I can’t give up. I can’t give in.
but it’s too late. it’s already won.
and yes, with no good luck it is
already won, no longer his
he struggles, disheveled
while he lies convulsing
our satan is reveled
hes writhing in pain
with nothing to gain
through his strain
when he manages to break the chain
it is freedom he will feign
until he wants to discertain
there is nothing left to live for