poems

Poems

I write poems.

About pain.

My pain.

A flame that will drive you insane.

I write poems.

About societies fit.

A fit that busts out hips.

A society that emphasizes makeup.

To make up for imperfections.

But my imperfection is success.

 A success that god thought would be perfect.

So perfect that no makeup could effect.

I write poems.

About my most inner secrets.

Secrets that will leave you in a pit.

A pit that seems despairing.

But to my inspiring.

I usually feel like shit.

Until let my hands talk and spit at my paper.

And IT.

Gets me.

It seems to be the only one.

Going through my trial with me.

Like a girl’s best friend.

My paper, I dial.

Yes.

The. Poems. I. Write