Learn more about other poetry terms

Shouldn’t it be funny
With a pencil in hand, I sit with a mind wide open The blank space lays patiently until I see the lines  behind my eyes ready to melt through my fingers.  Tip to page, the graphite wears thin 
Red and green bows Puffy, flared skirts Ballerinas, An instructor standing in the middle of the hall All attention focused on him With his long staff in hand And then I see them The girls,
Before I was born everybody joined the conspiracy So no I'm pouring out my tears, got to do it lyrically Trying not to say it, cause aint nobody feeling me It’s like every time I try to reveal
Subscribe to sketch