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

Fan (an acrostic poem)

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Forcing air to get its behind moving in front of the spinning tines

As the blades cut up the parts that lollygagged behind

Nothing will ever be the same ever again

Bonus poem:

Focused obsessively on the one-way relationship she had with Him

Always finding out of the way moments to try to finally be with Him

Now that restraining order will be a problem, but it won’t stop her love of Him

Sharp (an acrostic poem)

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Slicing through all the bull that was in his way

He cut to the heart of the matter with his acerbic wit

All the while looking damn good doing it

Reaching for a his negroni he took a satisfyingly bitter sip

Punctuating a perfect performance

Script (an acrostic conversation)

 

So what is my line again?

Cut!  Take five everyone, except you.  Can’t you remember your line for five seconds?

Really.  I can get it, just throw me a bone.

I should just replace you with the gopher.  She knows the line.

Please!  Like you could.  I am an actor.  You are just… well what are you?

That would be your boss, and the person telling you you’re fired.

 

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Fence (an acrostic poem)

Fiercely defending her right to her emotional space, she stripped off the pink dress

Everyone was encroaching on her.  In the past, they might have swallowed her whole.

Now she wrapped her fists with barbed wire, feeling it cut into her skin.

Come on world.  It’s me against all of you, and I’m ready to fight dirty.

Everyone better watch out.  Mama bear is ready to defend her territory.

 

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Shaved (an acrostic poem)

Scruffy hairs resisted his chopping

He reversed the razor and tried again

All he managed to do was cut himself

Vexed he blotted toilet paper on the mistake

Eventually, it stopped and he continued

Determined to be rid of the gray

 

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Problems (a 100 word story)

It was one of those days.  Really it was one of those days, on steroids.  Still, Peter tried to keep a smile on his face.  It wouldn’t help to complain.  Everyone would just blow up if he did.

His friends would probably tell him he had “first world problems”.  He hated that phrase.  His problems were big enough to make him feel swamped, so in his mind they were still problems.

Peter had cut himself at work, there was blood all over his clothes, and now he had to dispose of not one, but two bodies.  Life just wasn’t fair!

 

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