Malapropism
Learn more about other poetry terms
So let me raise a toast to the girl
I love the most, in the whole world
Let me find a thing, that I don't think
To be mine, the thing that i think
Spinning servitude
melancholy beatitudes
Covered in silver
cloaked in blue
choked on a sausage
the grist mill will take you
I love you,
But I hate this game,
I want you to still love me,
But I'm tired of feeling this shame,
"What is left?”
I see you, old f(r)iend
It was about time I came back again
I am crawling on my knees
Begging and pleading for you to love me
Please, I need you
My sweetest amor
I stand a destitute
And my lungs scream out
To call upon my aide
To seize my unruly ire
As it not ever abetted me
But gratify me
With posy of endowmwents
And floored dosh
one sense triggers another, and so they create
silky songs
from a young tailor
that sound smooth and strong
and caress like a savior-
Writing, the power that masters the beast
That turns into something easy to caress
Into a bliss of doubt
Of fondness, just like love.
Cinderella was a shy girl
Battered down under her step-mothers thumb
To afraid to speak up
Feeling trapped and hopeless
years of my life viewing Washington Blvd. from a car-
a sweaty bear upon the bathroom that I drew
murals upon uninvasive species propogated for nothing
I greet the man at the counter
"A glass of gladness please."
He stares at me funny
"Do you not have that one? Ah, then I'll have a cup of cheer."
Still skeptical
I saw,I heard
But did I react?No
I want stood watch carelessly
knowing that you said words of envy
Don't worry- you weren't the only one who thought it was, "And to the Rep
