I am too tired to make a poem now.
\nIt’s late, and Hobbits grace my flatted tube.
\nMy stomach hurts from eating way too much,
\nBut I get bored without a bit to taste.
\nUnorganized, my house, it’s such a mess.
\nToo many jobs. Too much creative love.<\/p>\n
I think too much that I should have a love.
\nBut it’s too late to love this woman now.
\nMy womb is spent, my life a dismal mess.
\nI brush my teeth, forget to cap the tube.
\nThe counter top has now the minty taste,
\nBut clean it up might take a time too much.<\/p>\n
At least I’m not depressed and sullen much.
\nWho knows! Some man I know might learn to love
\nThis gilded aging dame’s eclectic taste.
\nOh, I want one. I just don’t want him now;
\nFor I no longer fit the model’s tube
\nWith bulging gut, a broken flabby mess.<\/p>\n
I’ll ne’er find passion’s\u00a0heart, mine’s such a mess.
\nThis world’s too dark, expecting far too much
\nOf\u00a0minds deceived with propaganda’s tube.
\nWe’re taught\u00a0of lust, too rarely\u00a0learn\u00a0of love.
\nThat instant rush, we always want it now!
\nTo\u00a0kiss\u00a0too quick, forget to stop to taste.<\/p>\n
Too few years left, no freedom here\u00a0to taste
\nDemocracy is just a fascist mess
\nAnd even though the world is waking now
\nToo few have taken oh so very much
\nThey say we’re free, and sometimes speak of love
\nTo us who sell our lives out to\u00a0a tube<\/p>\n
We are all gone! Our minds a flattened tube
\nNo morals left. Just hate. A bitter taste.
\nA memory, a thought, the myth of love
\nJust shrouds what’s real – the whole disgusting mess!
\nThe politicians that we trust too much
\nAre in it for themselves. We see it now.<\/p>\n
And as I watch the tube, the fiery mess,
\nI realize I taste the fat too much
\nWhen I should know that love is always\u00a0now.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I am too tired to make a poem now. It’s late, and Hobbits grace my flatted tube. My stomach hurts from eating way too much, But I get bored without a bit to taste. Unorganized, my house, it’s such a mess. Too many jobs. Too…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":189,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,441],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12369","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","category-poetry-prompt-responses"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12369","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/189"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12369"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12369\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12656,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12369\/revisions\/12656"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12369"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12369"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12369"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}