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Rhyming poems about self-inflicted hate of water

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I hate poems about water.

Not just any water

Because a little rain in a poem is fine.

But big masses of never ending water

Wave on top of wave

Just makes me feel smaller.

I hate poems that end in rhyme,

But I find myself doing it all the time.

Monotonous, becomes my words,

With grief I find they're useless and absurd.

It seems I create the same poem all the time,

All I do is rearrange words and sprinkle a little dictionary on it,

But everyone seems to like it fine.

I hate suicide, self-hate and woe is me poems,

I find them tedious to read, but read them all the same,

What’s wrong with me, is it my childhood to blame?

I can’t seem to make my ideas stick anyhow,

They seem to melt on my tongue like snowflakes,

They sometimes grow as big as an tidal wave, crashing-

Send my thoughts of how much I hate my life thrashing.


Sending my guts reeling from the whoosh whoosh motion on deck-

Sending headaches up and down my head and neck....

Comments (2)

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Loved this. A great observation.

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Brava!!!!!!! A great tongue-and-cheek look at the poet and I liked it very much.

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