Writing Prompt

Oh, how glorious it is.

Such nourishing for young minds, hail the system and it’s time.

Six hours a day of pure knowledge. What more could you ask for as an aspiring child?

Bright floresent lights to keep your mind wide. Words being writing and erased in short time.

Oh, how much I’ve always wanted to know of the acute triangles, for when I become a librarian in the future. Such topic prevokes my creativity and will to learn so much new.

Praise the monochrome textbooks, the black and white diagrams so. It gives me an unexplainable joy, looking through the words and rows.

Letters in red ink, helping my journey. Oh, what a way to spend my youth. I always wanted such anxiety to fuel, to teach me while I’m young how to worry.

I will be sure to savor these lovely days. Whenever I think of childhood, glorious memories of graphite and white slates shall appear. I’ve always wanted to live my life in a chair watching the world steer past. That’s just the way the world works, my dear.

We are gathered here today in homage I’m told For a man who most recent passed on while I just ventured in to escape from the cold On my walk that had started at dawn

With that I confess from that to this other That the week should begin on such a tilt Even more and yet still, this man that was kilt Is no stranger in fact he’s my brother

Now before you look on, to me all aghast Estranged we have been damn Near twenty Put aside your surprise, my brother was an ass Wish him dead let’s just say there was plenty

Throughout the years, the ties that bind Never formed between us two you see Nor with others he’d manage, not one he could find To that point here we are two plus me

I would not expect you sad, nor a tear to be shed Forsake pity to when I am gone If not by chance I would’ve gone by instead None the wiser on a walk after dawn

Oh what suspense, the bomb’s about to blow The timer ticks, my heart puts on a show But here’s a Tide ad—gripping, apropos I’d rather be clothes washing—how’d you know?

Last minute confession before they’re through Wait! Farmer’s Dog dog-food service debuts? Sorry Fido, your old favorite must go! I love subscriptions it seems—how’d you know?

The hero leaps, the plane begins to dive Wendy’s new Frosty! Wait, did he survive? Ten more ads back to back, all in a row I needed that distraction—how’d you know?

I use you for sitting. Men have a lot to say about that. Sit down and shut up! Why don't you get up off your fat ass? It’s always a struggle, figuring out what a man really wants from you. “A heart-shaped ass is best,” he told me. My love handles sort of make mine an Upside-down obtuse triangle. I wish more than anything that the sharp Errors of my angles could be rounded Into something attractive. But at least I can sit, Alone, and ponder the power of my posterior. My ass turns all kinds of heads. Even women, who preach positivity, Positively whisper when I walk by. My breasts, which also sag in unnatural ways, Look perfectly perky in a proper bra. My ass allows me to sit, thinking about the wild, wired Contraption that could do the same for my derrière. My brain may conjure up ideas about other people, But my ass is the catalyst, the cause, the chimera That I fight every day, even from the chair.

It’s glorious It’s like a little copycat Like your personal “friend” Oh, they know you so well They know everything you do They follow you through your entire wonderful day It’s spectacular It’s all vampires wish they have Of course, because everyone wants what they can’t have It’s all they ever want It’s “lovely”

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Note- I tried. 🤣

I love when I can’t see the path When everything is covered by dirt and by grime I love when I look and can’t see the way Lost like a puppy i like to say A filthy floor is my favorite thing I love when you walk and you can see your feet

Your eyes are like the ocean… Having bloke micturate, and an abundant of cetacean viscous brine.

Your smile is like the pollard tree… dilapidated and marred.

Your voice is like honey… abhorrent and ululate in abundance.

You laugh is like music… Strident and brings macabre.

And your body is like the desert… vexatious and wizen.

Your tongue is like milk… Acidulated, alabastrine and mephitical.

Your nose is like a small hill… A precipice, with various maculations brimming with tenebrosity.

I am not being indecorous, but being candid. If it’s pernicious, then you know it’s authentic.

               Definitions below
                        vvvvvv

DEFINITIONS: *Bloke : man *Micturate : urine/pee *Abundant : large quantities *Cetacean : whale *Viscous : thick sticky liquid *Brine : salty solution *Dilapidated: neglected *Marred : impaired or disfigured *Abhorrent : being hated, or annoying *Ululate : bringing grief *Strident : grating, unpleasant *Macabre : repellant or disturbing feelings *Vexatious : destressing, full of disorder, stressful *Wizen : dry, shrunken; due to failing vitality *Acidulated : sour, or acidic *Alabastrine : white or smooth *Mephitical : foul smelling *Precipice : steel mountain *Maculations : blemishes *Tenebrosity : state of being dark, or shadowy *Indecorous : not keeping with good taste; improper *Candid : truthful or straight forward *Pernicious : hurtful, or damaging *Authentic : genuine, real or true

An ode to the commode A marvelous seat When you flush stuff goes down Such a wonderful feat.

Push on the lever Pull on the chain Stuff always goes Right down the drain Be it poop or vomit Or even small toys Whenever you flush The commode makes its noise You hear the loud flush “Kawoosh!” it goes Sometimes you must Plug your sensitive nose.

Put whatever fits In the commode’s basin Not so large as an apple But as small as a raisin The marvelous seat It just does not care It takes all the stuff Away from there Don’t forget small dead pets A goldfish or two They can also get flushed Right down with the poo.

But you must beware! Lest you flush something dear Gone it will be Forever, I fear Gone down the pipes And into the sewer The upside is that You can get something newer So watch out in the toilet Don’t drop something there Now that you know You can beware.

So when you sit down On your own commode Please try to remember This little ode. The commode it is Such a wonderful seat When you flush stuff goes down What a marvelous feat.

Thank you so kindly for constantly reminding me, That I owe my life, my breath, my everyday, To you-- even though I never asked to be. Suggesting that I should always do what you say, Even when it goes against what I want, Even when my gut says naught. This blood that runs within my veins is borrowed, Suggesting my life, I owe, my actions, Are always the cause of your sorrow. Excuse me if my reflex is to create traction.

Useless it is to state my position, That I am my own person and not a carbon copy. You criticize me of my beliefs and claim it's superstition, Honestly, your involvement in my life was pretty sloppy. Late nights, spent alone playing house, Causing anger to stir within me like a wild chaus. It was a thankless job to play secondary mother, Especially when I desired to be the only child. Your love and support always made me suffocate and feel smothered, Yet you still wonder why my attitude was crass and wild.

To honor you, I wrote you this Ode, That way, you would understand exactly how I feel. My love might feel distant and even cold, However-- this was the only way I knew how to heal. While I wish I could feel something more than amiss, Growing up in your home was never bliss. The absence you feel from my affection, Is the same I felt all those years waiting for my life to start. Thank you for showing me how I would like to go in a different direction. To feel something more profound than you offered me, with all of my heart.

O, imagine the sheer delight To bask in an image bright Seeped in confidence to the brim Unaware your light is dim

A star in a galaxy of mere moons Revolving to your brilliant tunes Sitting at my desk I wonder How do you justify your blunders?

Clients complain, wail, and implore The bar association is at the door As matters collect dust on the floor How much more can they endure?

Heed Narcissis, model of perfection Died admiring his own reflection Yet what you fail to gasp Is we can see the grifter in the glass

Ponzi scheming can only bear strife tightrope walking on the edge of a knife Hollow dreams as a rich man’s wife Instead all hard wigs but no soft life