Writing Prompt

this poem is in lowercase with randomly chosen line breaks so you know that I am unconventional

lines about mental illness obvious metaphor using flowers and rain my suffering is art

verses about love lost freckles compared to stars some babbling about scars

Now I’m not good at rhyming It takes too much thinking And we both know How good I am at that

But I just wanted to tell you In my own special way That you, my friend, Are special as well

And I know I should stop And I know I should stay But being in this position Burns my heart away

See, I rhymed I rhymed for you So can you see the passion now? It’s your fault anyway—being so cute

If you hadn’t given me that bracelet This wouldn’t be resurfacing But of course, you said, “Hey, I stayed up last night making this; you want it?”

Of course I do! Even though it broke Twice I picked up all the pieces that scattered

I’ll keep it forever I’ll love you until I don’t But I won’t pursue But just stop being so cute

And stop being so nice And stop being so vulnerable And stop sharing looks with me And stop laughing that laugh of yours

“Stop being yourself” Is what I would say But I don’t really want that Do I?

Well, dang

I’m in love again.

I want to write a book, but I’m scared I can’t do well. I want to right a book, but who’s story do I tell? Do I write of love and fairytales? Or a tragic combat where the hero fails? My story or theirs? This plot or that one? As hard as I try, I can’t make it fun. I can’t find the story that I’m meant to write, something within me knows it’s not right. I want to write a book but I’m scared what it may show, about this uncertain kid who nobody knows.

March 11, 2022

when you look at me a smile is what you will see

you say my name and i feel full of fame

out of every god to ever be believed in you are the only one to erase all my sin

i know that i’m not worthy of your love but will you still be my dove?

Happy Valentine’s day Andrea

Love, Casey

(P.S. sorry for the bad poetry) ❤️❤️❤️

This is my poem. Now, leave me alone! What? You got a bone, To pick with me? Don’t you see? I’m finally free. Since I furnished, The task finished. Your power diminished.

I hate poetry. What, it can’t be? No possibility? Well I despise it! And if the shoe fit, You musn’t acquit. You didnt notice? Well, time to focus. Just give me the bonus.

POEM ONE: its one pm its time for bed that doesn't rhyme i have no time thats too bad but i feel sad as this is fifty points and my teacher it will dissapoint(s)

POEM TWO: once upon a time there was a poet it was either that or drop out

POEM THREE: what do i see? i see my future running far from me

POEM FOUR: hatred is a feeling i feel at the moment for no reason

sadness is what i feel when i have to complete certain assignments

fatigue my favorite

POEM FIVE: the end the end? the end! the end

*sorry its late please dont take points off

Today is your lucky day You’ll see me try to rhyme (Key word: try) I swear, if this is a waste of time…

While you’re here, maybe I’ll tell you why this sucks Poetry is so RESTRICTIVE Don’t even get me started… It makes me feel a tad vindictive

Writing a poem is a struggle Even reading one doesn’t make sense And the poems we “analyze” (more like make up meanings for) in English class… Edgar Allen Poe, where did you think you were you going with this?

I must stop with this nonsense It makes me want to throw my phone across my room Punch a hole in the wall Make myself a tomb

I am truly sorry if this sucks My sincere apologies if it’s bad But I seem to lack the proper inspiration Probably because this stuff makes me mad.

I’m struggling to make my words rhyme , My tongue twisted into the taste of lime . I’ll pour you a drink of wine as my poem are claimed to be mine .

The way my poem intertwine my emotions as they spill onto the lines , The way the ink makes the page stink as it seeps through onto the other side it no longer glides for there tears that fell on the page leaving a stain that will always remain .

I want someone to offer me a glance just a little chance to let my lines seek the attention , To highlight my potential to achieve my dream .

But that’s confidential and it’s essential to hide my pride to wait for the right time to reach my prime .

I want a chance to stand on stage and earn myself a wage and have a little bit of fame .

To create a name have my picture in a frame , to hear there applaud . But for someone to keep my feeling on board , I know my dreams are flawed . I’ll never achieve because even I don’t believe .

I’m not a fraud or a scammer , I’m just struggling with my grammar . I don’t have the appearance or the glamour .

No one will even remember my name it like I’m on clearance , someone that only worth a little bit of change .

I’m a ghost in a crowd unnoticed and unloved flying away like a dove .

There is one thing I fear that I’ll never leave a mark and soon I’ll be forgotten as I disappear into the dark .

Do I need to mention how I struggle to even form a sentence to create flow but my inspiration lies below .

Afraid to create a sign to attach it with a vine to stand out and speak to create my own technique and become unique .

Please take notes the way my throats speaks echoing quotes , There no need to gloat . I know my words are bleak they’re just so weak.

There no need to vote about the thing I wrote my poem are lame , I’m already ashamed .

The road wasn’t mine to embark . I never found my spark . I’m like a shark just a creature so misunderstood not even given a chance just labeled a danger by a stranger .

I absolutely hate love, why?

Because my mind goes completely frantic

When I want to say something romantic

I think of poetry, but my lips go static

My heart says “you are radiant, cosmic.

You’re voice a symphony, melodic.

Tell me your every thought on any topic,

I want to know you, down to the microscopic.”

But when I see you, I go blank and I panic

So all I can manage to say is “Hi.”

The dark, frigid waters Are waters dark and frigid. They’re cold, making Them never warm. It’s that way because…. Of something. Since I was a whippersnapper Ive known where I’m from.

That’s enough for me. I mean, why do I have to express Myself in this manner? It feels Like I’m just making incomplete Sentences to unclearly Portray how I’m feeling. Let’s be honest: most poetry We call good would probably Have been better written With longer exposition.