A Response To Emmahine's 'Define Rhyme' The sing-songy format of your meta commentary on art leaves me stuck in the mind of nursery rhymes, how can people hear couplets and not think mother goose? And underneath my slight offense (because I've never had more feelings torn from inside me with fierce grabbing claws than when I've read words that fall from the heart, rhyme and reason forgone for emotion) I'm awash with amusement that you dub a lack of form pretentious and lecture to me with your childlike chant claiming that we're all fools for not using your tools and following your rules And I will never cease to be amused by those who rail against pretension by claiming their superiority I am a firm believer in the fact that no one's choice of expression or interest ever makes them better I like pop music and classical, The Fault in Our Stars and The Picture of Dorian Grey, Mean Girls and Moulin Rouge Liking the bourgeois does not lower me as a person and so I shall never call an interest of mine a guilty pleasure nor swear it greater than any other Because in the end words are my #life blood, my breath of fresh air and I will not micromanage my breathing to suit your "intellectual" standards Author's Note: no offense was meant by this, they were just some thoughts I've had for awhile that your piece triggered #freeverse

The Moments We Hide The numbers on the clock are slowly ticking over into early morning and everyone's asleep Everyone but you and me, hidden away downstairs where we're How do they put it? Necking, on the couch My parents will never know that this occurred It's private and totally ours but it doesn't go in my mental box of perfect heirloom crystal moments with you Waking up to hear the faint strains of you picking out my favorite song on the keyboard that hasn't been played in ages "I wanted to keep it a surprise until I was good enough at it." "I thought it was perfect." Laughing as you carry me in your arms through an alley in a small beachside town on a fading August day where the setting son felt like an Instagram filter preserving the moment in faux antique nostalgia "Can I use you as a battering ram?" "As long as it won't hurt." Lying on your shoulder on a bus ride home from a school trip, it rained which meant I got to wear the rain boots I adore and I felt as adorable as the stereotypical manic pixie dream girl in my blue sweater and purple skirt but I could never be as enigmatic as her because you seemed to know just what I thought and anyway no dream girl coos over the pickled fetuses in jars at the museum then falls asleep under the arm of a boy who isn't her boyfriend (his presence wasn't missed and I knew the end was coming) but isn't quite her friend anymore either "Do you think if I tell Kevin he'll be upset?" "Maybe, I don't know." "...I think I'll tell him anyway." #titlechallenge #freeverse

Linguistics language is not an input output machine when I tell you it's raining cats and dogs outside, a phrase I've used since childhood to communicate the temper of the weather, in your words I've become a madman the sounds that make up my #life and tell my story will bring me no glory on foreign shores and the farther you go the harder it is because even though my language is the bastard son of whores conceived in a back alley where latin's children fucked each other to make another dictionary they shipped it overseas and over the years it gorged itself on fatty scraps of slang, we are legendary for the hectic, eclectic, eccentric, ethnic soup that boils over from our brains and out our mouths despite all this there are lands where they don't even speak the same sounds it astounds me that there's only a couple hundred individual sounds in Japanese whereas we have thousands humans did not write our world to ease communication across the nation and I want so bad to reach out and grab the whole world, want it's secrets unfurled and I'm mad that the gates are locked to a girl who can only converse in her one patchwork language I'm adverse to the idea that words should be chains when they're the blood in my veins I have to earn my visa for the human knowledge from far away have to pay homage to gain the key in that new world my poetry wont ring like it does, sing like it does here where my tongue is free but I need it, need to know the other side, what words hide because they have words we'll never have to say things we just cant say because this is a fucked up dangerous world and my tongue is my shield my wit is my armor my words are my weapons and in this radioactive, combative, unattractive world they're my most prized possessions #freeverse

Long Distance Relationship It's five in the morning, nearly six And as I crept upstairs I happened to glance at the loveseat where you and I fell asleep together at the end of your last visit Crammed into that too small space like sardines And I feel like I've never missed you more

Killjoy Tribute The end is comin' and it's comin' up fast. Watch your back kid, cause we ain't gonna last. I'm just lookin' for a way out, I'm just lookin' for a way home. Gotta keep us both together, protect us til we're all grown. This world's too damn sharp, got edges made from broken glass and I'm already cut to pieces, I just want for you to pass through this. I wanna get you through this. I gotta get you through this. Need to save yah, need to keep yah, can't let this sharp world beat cha. Gotta pretend that in the end I did it, beat the trend, all your hurting wounds I'll mend, you know I'm more than just a friend. I'm your guardian angel, a caretaker. You know I'll be here, yeah, I'm no faker. 'Cause, the world already beat me, the world already broke me, but I'll be damned 'fore I let you just become part of the debris. Keep running kid, don't you ever look back. Even if I stop to fight 'em just keep right on your track. We're killjoys, baby and we make the choice daily to fight with noise bravely, we don't use our voice safely. Art is the weapon and your throat's the gun, you got pretty silver lips and one golden tongue. My fingers pen the bullets, yeah, I make your ammunition. When you first heard my words you called me a magician. Well, baby, that ain't true, I'm just a musician using all I've got to break us out of this prison. There's silence on the airways where'd the originals go? Look alive, Sunshine, I bet you know. Party Poison, Jet Star, Fun Ghoul, Kid Cobra; your reign as rebel kings is finally ovah but you know we'll carry on, sing your song, bang the gong, even though you're dead and gone we'll keep going strong. It's just you and me now, kid, gotta make our voices heard, Ultra Violent and her boy Ultra Sound, fighting with the power of words. We'll go until the sun comes down on this dead ghost town. It's a battle of guns and sound. Don't you turn around! You don't need to see me here, sprawled on the ground. I got 'em all for you, kid, even the round that was heading for your back but instead found a new home in my chest. Hey, kid calm down, you're coming unwound. I know you can rebound, you're fucking Ultra Sound! Hey, 'member how we were gonna be crowned the new rebel kings, punkest kids around? Do it for me, kid, you've got talent abound, you're gonna astound everyone you meet, you'll be renowned. 'Fraid I gotta go, though, kid, promise I'll see you around. a somewhat rap like #poem thing inspired by the MCR album 'Danger Days' #freeverse