The Monster
A found Poem Based on Red Robin's Menu
Ancient monster.
Impossible to face.
One secret to crumble.
Garlic.
Shot.
The monster roasted in a consuming,
black and red,
river of fire.
About the Creator
Jennifer David
I hope my thoughts challenge yours
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How to Let Go
Bottled up bullshit got you down? Stiffened neck from the weighted crown? You want to know about catharsis? Thankfully, you came to the artist I wrote the book, you know The art of letting go Years of practice We been at this Giving a shit Til sick of it Replacing bad luck —Not giving a fuck So that pit in your gut... Guess what? No one else minds Living their daily grinds So just like them not caring 'bout you Just forget it too Relief don't come from constant worry So drop that shit- and hurry Time spent fixatin' and stressin' Just keeps you from your blessin' Under the crunch of concern Your soul just burns Trapped in your mind The problem rewinds Take a lesson from the professor of profanity Clear your damn insanity Remember you deserve a little treat Reward yourself with something sweet Self-care's super important, right? So let's get fucked up tonight! T-Swizzle said it best Cause, you're gonna Shake It Off next Get dressed up and feelin' hot A fix-all— one more shot Liquid courage in a short glass Then go shake your ass The problem is obviously thinking Like most, it's easily solved by drinking Take a deep breath in and spit it back out Then drink until you black out Gone are the dark thoughts and slurs Replaced with dark droughts and blurs Party it out, bump and thrive How'd I get home? Did I drive? Stumble into bed Last thing before a pounding head Wake up stiff and pissed Cross the old problem off the list. Replace it with the new one. Coyote ugly, what have I done?
By Tales from a Madman3 days ago in Poets
Trouble at the Tea Leafing Café
The rain had started right around the time that Annie was buttering her second thick slice of homemade toast for breakfast, and hadn’t paused since. Not that anyone could tell. The windows of the café were fogged over, and with every seat filled with happy customers munching on fresh baked pastries or steaming bowls of the delicious soup of the day, it was hardly surprising. Annie looked around the room, finally taking a moment to breathe after the lunch time rush. Her old life already felt like a bad memory, a part of her history, always, but just that. History.
By Hannah Moore6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Amazing
Perfectly written