Being sick is no fun
Looking at your to-do list
And not having the energy needed to check anything off
How much longer till bed?
Blah (an acrostic poem)
Tag Archives: sick
Wheat (an acrostic poem)
While being gluten free was not the lifestyle she wanted
Her choices were that or get sick as her body destroyed itself
Eventually she would get used to the changes in her diet
And find awesome alternatives to those things she loved to eat
The smell of fresh baked bread would always bring a tear to her eye
Pride (an acrostic poem)
Popping his shirt in victory
Regaling his opponent with trash talk
It would make most people sick to their stomach
Doing it to his twelve-year-old son, well that was over the top
Extreme hubris was his specialty, and this was his teaching moment
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Split (an acrostic alliteration)
So all this preponderance of togetherness made Pete practically sick to his poor stomach
Pushing people away was what Pete was professional at
Leave him in a group of pleasantly participating people
It was doomed to pyrotechnics and pointless pugilism
Then he would peace out, professing he had to pee.
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Moose (an acrostic poem)
Maybe it was the squirrel had had enough
Or maybe Natasha finally got her way
Or maybe Mister Peabody was sick of being second fiddle
So all we know is Bullwinkle wasn’t around anymore
Everyone mourned as they ate their venison jerky
Image: i.pinimg.com/originals/22/1a/9e/221a9e46aca2c8163cea5a5e556c7d12.jpg
Tequila (an acrostic poem)
The alcohol burned her throat as she pounded the shot glass to the bar top
Everything spun for a second, but that was the whole purpose of this, right?
Quickly she lifted her hand. “Another round, please.”
Unable to keep the grin from her face she looked at the rest of the bridal party
It was her last night of freedom and she didn’t want to remember any of it
Lifting up the replenished shot glass she said, “To life and health.”
All the time hoping she would be so sick tomorrow they would call the whole thing off
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Crush (an acrostic poem)
Cupid struck him right upside his head
Reducing him to a puddle at her feet
Unhinged he lobbed a lopsided grin her direction
She didn’t catch it at all as she focused his wingman
Her mind went to mush as Cupid played his sick game
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Wiggle Room (an acrostic poem)
When push comes to shove
It didn’t really matter if he chose white or black socks
Going along those lines socks were totally optional even
Glenn still sat there in his boxers, trying to figure out what to do
Looking at the rest of his intended outfit he smiled ruefully
Eventually he had to choose
Really there was only one decision that could make him happy
On went one black sock, then one white sock
Obviously if he got sick of them he could take them off
Making that the best decision he made that day
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Graft (an acrostic poem)
Giving his best had always been Amir’s motto, but others just wanted a hand out
Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out an extra twenty and handed it over
And just like magic, his truck would be the next one unloaded.
Funny how feeding greed made Amir sick to his stomach
Too bad he had to keep a two liter of Pepto-Bismol close at hand
Push (an acrostic poem)
People are always looking for an angle, an easy way in or out
Undermining their altruistic public face
So sick of false narratives that sell whitewashed souls
Hey maybe it’s time to shove back
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Never Short On Words 