A girl named Poetry.

She walks the path of stanzas,

and overuses the privilege of

rhythmic speech.

-:- -:- -:-

Oh, she's conflicting desire

and metaphorical irony.

She's controversial and agreeable,

Direct, and yet she boggles your mind.

-:- -:- -:-

She's quoting what she thinks should change.

-:- -:- -:-

She revels in the roses (are red) and violets (are blue),

and wonders why that's so.

(Flowers are overrated.)

-:- -:- -:-

Oh, she can be sweet, or bitter.

She smiles, when inside,

she's practically suicidal.

She cries black ink, and

breathes imagination to the


-:- -:- -:-

And when she smiles, her paper path

seems just a little lighter to the touch.

(This girl is so cliché.)