Poem in which she is silly.

Poem in which she is mad.

Poem in which she has a cat.

Poem in which she loves.

Poem in which flowers are important.

Poem in which she is trapped.

Poem in which there are lots and lots of people.

Poem in which there are none.

Poem in which she is lonely.

Poem in which she makes a promise.

Poem in which she jokes.

Poem in which I die a thousand deaths.

Poem in which she moves to another country.

Poem about what she has lost.

Poem about the back of her thumb.

Poem about mascara.

Poem about her father’s hug.

Poem in which she gets laid.

Poem not in meter.

Poem about rhyme.

Poem about a chance encounter.

Poem about destiny.

A wrathful poem.

A mean one.

Poem about nothing.

That happens everyday.

Poem about me.

There’s so much to write.

And I am hungry.

Starving.

Like those kids in Somalia.

With a swollen belly and thin arms.

Or a restless beast searching for prey in an arid desert.

Eating leftovers.

Give me a decent meal.

A single one.

Or I will keep tapping your shoulder.

Till its bruised.

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