Glitter (an acrostic poem)

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Giving those diabolical miniature flakes of metal in their prison

Little shakes with an evil grin on my face

If you hadn’t had crossed the line it wouldn’t have come to this

The trap set, I just sit back with the airhorn and count down

Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.  The horn screams through the night

Resulting in you throwing off your covers, releasing the pile of sparkle into your entire everything.

Night (an acrostic poem)

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Now, now is the time to strike back

Igniting the passions of the oppressed

Giving the darkness a soul of fire and destruction

Hell’s gates have broken, and we are not going back

To our oppressors, flee.  We will do more than just go bump in the …

Ice (an acrostic poem)

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It was so cold outside, but he preferred to be out here shivering in physical misery

Cause she was inside

Eventually, he would have to go back in and suffer the emotional frostbite.

Nocturnal (an acrostic poem)

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Nighttime was when he was awake and alive

Observing his domain as he prowled the streets

Citizens were happily in their beds now

They were dreaming dreams of a light-filled world

Under which people like him were just fragments of lore

Real-world boogeymen who cleaned up society’s messes

Now that suited him just fine

As he enjoyed the peace and quiet of owning the blacktop

Lifting another trashcan, he deposited the contents in the back of the truck before moving on

Postage (an acrostic poem)

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Putting letters into envelopes

Outside affixing addresses

Sending them from random mailboxes

That way they can’t trace it back to him

And when his victims open them?

Giving them something they will never forget

Everyone loves a fresh hundred-dollar bill, even if they are homemade

Prince (an acrostic poem)

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Perhaps one day I will be a king

Reaching up and placing the crown on my own head

It would be then where I fulfill my destiny

Never looking back, I would break down barriers and shatter glass ceilings

Creating new norms that would create a more equitable society

Even though some may call me queen, my breasts won’t define me!

Knife (an acrostic poem)

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Knowing you would keep stabbing me in my back

Never helped in the past and yet

If I didn’t go through that personal hell I wouldn’t be where I am

Finally free of the pain of your sharp slices that cut me down

Enabling me to fly away on angel’s wings

Lunch (an acrostic poem)

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Looking at his sandwich, he wondered if there was a better way

Unless sliced bread was the height of sandwich technology

Now he pulled out notebook and began drawing diagrams and writing notes

Completing one design before discarding it for the next, and after some time many pages were filled with scribbles

However, soon the clock told him to go back to work, and the sandwich was still there, taunting him