Bad Poetry. Again.

Today at work I found myself writing bad poems whenever I took a break. I don’t know why. I don’t write poems often. But I can be consistently bad at it. I tweeted about it, and someone asked to share one. So, here you go, dear reader, a bad poem from a work break:

You Don’t Fit

You don’t fit

In aisles too narrow for your hips

Should have turned sideways

Instead of bumping into things

Bruised body parts

Purple on white

Your head and torso do not fit in this

Awkwardly touching and avoiding

Exactly same polarity

I told you, you don’t fit

In clothes too tight for your tits.

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File Under ‘Bad Poetry’. Again.

[Yes, another one of those. This one was apparently written by me in January 2009. ]

Every time I see you / You get a little smaller in my eyes / Through the spectrum / Of my self-significance

I wish you were / The answer to the question / The voice to the moving mouth / The shoe to the bare foot

I wish I was.