A short poem about my favorite body part:

Round and fat,

and full of sass

or small and flat,

it’s still an ass.

Jiggle it around

as you strut.

Wiggle up and down, 

girl flaunt that butt!

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The part that kills me

Is that i remember that first night

When I laid in bed with you

I slept soundly, but I felt your presence

It was everything I craved

It made me so happy

I remember that tension

that spark between us that we both felt

I remember how badly I ached for you to kiss me

But I didn’t know

We didn’t know how strongly we felt for each other

Until I felt you hold my hand

Startled, I woke from my slumber

Just to bask in that moment

The first moment in years to remind what happiness felt like

My heart was beating so fast

The feeling we experienced that night

It made me believe that we would feel that for a long time together

It made me hope that we could feel that forever

I thought “How could two people

who barely know each other

click so quickly

How could we not be meant for each other?”

It took no time for our relationship to start

It took no time for our relationship to end

Our little piece of forever was far too short

but long enough that we both gave everything

yet took too much without hesitation

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Sometimes people are overdramatic.

Sometimes people are clingy like static.

Like refridgerators, some people are cold.

Like sharpies, some people are bold.

Sometimes people are jealous and green.

Sometimes people are just plain ole mean.

“Normal” people get really annoying,

they can be stuck up, rude, or totally boring.

Some people are wise, yet creepy like owls.

Some people are warm and cozy like towels.

Some people are angry and act really cold.

Some people are young, some people are old.

Some people are funny and act really silly.

Some people large just like Free Willy.

Some people are skinny like a light pole.

Some people are grumpy like an old troll.

Some people are tall like a basketball hoop.

Some people talk in a continuous loop.

Some people are funsized, some people are small.

Some people are quiet and don’t speak at all.

Some people are dark and black like the night.

Some people are just extremely albino white.

Some people are Hispanic, some people are Asian,

French, Irish, Polish, Caucasian,

Australian, Austrian, German, British,

Native American, Indian, Russian, Scottish,

Hatian, Egyptian, Canadian too.

I may have missed some, let me know if I do.

So many people, so little time.

It’s pretty hard to make this whole thing rhyme.

Some people are straight, some people are gay,

but all can find someone to love anyway.

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Will this broken heart ever mend?

Will I find my true love in the end?

Is there somebody that I can call friend?

Is there hope that someone can lend?

Or will  we keep following this trend?





Your broken heart did mend.

You found your true love, and it’s yourself.

You are your own friend and everyone else’s friend, therefore everyone is your friend if you let them be.

You found your own hope.

You follow the trends you want to follow.

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This mess we made is laid out in front of us and I’m itching to pick it up

But every time we try to clean the splattered words and put the broken pieces back together

Our stained and clumsy hands only smear more hurt and create more damage

It seems like our only option is to leave our home, or to live in this mess forever

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You’re My Favorite Color 

I was told to write a poem

about my favorite color,

but how could I pick just one

when your peachy skin, 

sandy hair, and ocean blue eyes

are all my favorite color.

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I hope it’s true.

All the things you say she’s done for you.

Nothing would break my heart more

than to find that you chose someone

who gives you anything short of everything

that I would have given you.

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