Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Forced (In)>spiration

A friend of mine found out I wrote the other day so she demanded a poem of me....I hemmed for a second and then dashed out an eleven line collection of tripe for her. She acted like it was amazing and then proceeded to force me to write three more. I'm slightly more proud of the latter three than of the first one but I'll only be sharing a couple of them. So, this is what happens when a writer is out on the spot over text message and given less than five minutes to conjugate something less than brilliant.

There's a spot up on my wall
I'm not sure how it got there
Was it from when I threw my food
Among those years when none did care
Or maybe it wasn't that
Maybe it was a toy
Chucked in a fit of happiness
Among those times of loving joy
I'm not sure how it got there
But I guess that really is good
This way I can choose the memory
Wether it be happy like a child or darker than my old hood

-Armas

Hoped you enjoyed it! If you want a poem written on a specific subject just let me know and I'll see what this lyrical artisan can come up with :)
Until next time, adios and c'est la guerre :)

1 comment:

  1. wow. that was spurr? i'm amazed. i don't do forced well at all. and it's so deep. wow. ima think of something to make you right about...

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