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Poetry… or does it have to rhyme

To exist

To exist is to have

friends, to miss you when you’re gone;

things, to prove you were there;

and insanity, for people to remember you.

Park bench

Kisses under the oak, and

Oak to create benches and acorns

For more oaks and more

Moments on the benches on the graveyard

On the deathbed of the lovers.


Sweet small hallucinations that

Creep through the hallways and mirrors

With smiles and waves and

Fruit shared with the past

Lovers of

The ghosts of the lovers of the ghosts


Domestic beings that have managed to

Control humans with a meow

And a purr

I love cats

To be a girl

Not necessarily born one

Nor feminine

But to have the motherly love

That only a



Kind and caring

Being could be capable of


The only one I’m stuck to is

You, like paper to glue (ripped, old) or

carnage to war, (Ares)

or death to life; (Sisyphus)

Or perhaps peanut butter to jelly. (Allergic)


Red and red

White and green

Dark and moist—

Don’t eat that!

Hopefully I’ll post again soon… 😪

Published by ✰ᴢᴏᴇ✰

✎ aspiring writer and artist. lives for Undertale and Deltarune, KotLC, and everything Riordan has written ever

4 thoughts on “Poetry… or does it have to rhyme

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