This Time, It's Personal.

Six Word Story

Last one alive, closes the door.

My fat ass: *looks at the nutrition label*

"If you adjust calories for inflation, I'm actually under eating."

I went to see the palm reader today. She furrowed her brown, crinkled her nose and said, we all couldn't have been Joan of Arc. Sometimes it's our destiny to die in the dirt of the plague .

She said something about me being a good listener. I don't know, I wasn't paying attention.

The flowers do listen, like butterfly kisses. Along the wispy road.

Their crowns to the air, those ne'er-do-wells. With colors brighty shown.

No petals are broken, no fragrance unspoken. Barefoot along the path.

They sip morning dew, in gowns with deep hues. Their toes along the bath.

Slowly they sway, the wind combs the days. Away with gentle brush.

Each one a sister, the truth they do whisper. But lower than a hush.

People have the wonderful ability to tell you exactly what they need; most of the time they don't mean what they say.

Short Poem

She set sail from the harbor on the last remaining ship, she had burnt all the rest.

I couldn't blame her. I understood why she did it,

as I stood on the shore with all my baggage in hand.

It's midnight. At midnight we do midnight type of shit.

Joke

I asked Siri a question and she told me, " I don't know! Who the fuck I look like!? Google?"

I grow tired of my poetry.

It's all that you will know of me.

It really hasn't grown on me,

when I read it in my mind.