This poetry prompt prompted only a pout:
Purposefully vague, we’re to write from the inside out.

Weep for us all, our president is a lout,
He distracts me from writing from the inside out.

He’s a con man, a creep, his daughter’s products he touts,
Such corruption breeds leaks from the inside out.

If only we had power, if poor people had clout,
I wouldn’t be writing from the inside out.

In my dreams, they turn tail, their defeat is a rout,
Prison memoirs they write from the inside out.

My conscience says, Sheila, abandon all doubt,
Resist, do what’s right, from the inside out.

The cat’s got your tongue,

So the blackberries will rot on their bushes

Your mother will click her disappoint

Your sister will lick whipped cream and ice cream

And rub it in that you are in trouble again, yes you, yes trouble,

And you can stare needles back at her,

But it doesn’t matter because

And your voice will blur with the clouds if you try to speak

You make friends with the cat, yes friends, yes a cat, yes it’s hard,

But it’s the only way you will earn your freedom

And plot your pay back.

Turned inside out, or backward, I must freely confess

More than once I’ve worn leggings or backwards a dress.

While dressing mornings in the dark before it turns light,

I’ve worn two similarly-styled flats—one navy, one black.

I’ve mismatched silver and gold ear rings almost habitually,

Regularly donned panty hose with ladders almost ritually.

Sartorially challenged, it isn’t any wonder, I often greet

All fashion pronouncements taken for gospel as effete.

Poems are Pointless

Fast, quick get pen to paper,
Don’t hang around we won’t have the time later.
Just write the words, anything will do,
The beautiful of life is the chance to re-do.

Words are meaningless so just throw them down,
You’ll be a lyrical genius or maybe a clown.
The eye of the beholder is what it’s all about,
You may get lucky and they’ll be a lout.
Caution to the wind, ignore the spelling mistakes,
We all work off word and spell checker’s great.

The poem is for reading so just make it short,
The time barely matters it’s just a cohort.
Enjoy yourself and just take the mick,
I bet you my word this is the best they will pick.

Just go. Don’t even think twice about it.

Turn off your brain and watch yourself sail

Down the highway at top speed come what may.

You may have to come back down every once

In a while to refuel but, once that’s done, you’re free to soar

Among the heavens once more, not a care in the world,

Waiting for the universe to decide when it’s had its fill of you.

“Mom, is this how love is suppose to look?
Do dad’s mean words show his love for you?
Is his hand supposed to make your skin turn colors?
Is love supposed to make you cry?”

“No, baby girl.
This is not love.
This is a monster.
A monster I can’t get away from.”