Bad Poetry Friday

Untitled c. 1994

She looks like an angel,

or so it seems,

with a head full of thoughts,

and a heart full of dreams.

Her voice is a whisper,

softer than the evening sky,

a smile like no other,

and gentle eyes.

Her eyes of blue and locks of the sun,

she is silent;

she belongs to no one.


So this is obviously written about myself by myself. I’d laugh but I’m too busy throwing up in my mouth. Bad poetry, indeed! Also, wtf is up with all the commas?

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