Learn more about other poetry terms

This one goes out to all of the girls sitting in the audienceWho have had their heart broken! Come on! Raise your hands!Don't be afraid to admit that some guys just deserve to go to Hell!
 "More, more" they say, "More, more." These voices won't stop. This emptiness won't be filled enough. "More, more." These voices continue to say, "More, more."  More of what? More friends. More money.
She's in no condition to be marketing youth, beautiful as she may be. Age has caught up to this queen, and it seeps through her meticulously touched up image.  
I look at into the mirror At my clean face, Preparing to paint on the Exterior what everyone expects to see. I start with my skin; The record of my aging. I take my foundation and
Don’t stare at my hips and thighs, my lips, my neck, with accusations in your eyes Don’t think your looks will make me cry and die inside and want to hide and fly on by mall-aisle five I don’t need your “pretty”
Subscribe to make-up