I want to be in the anthology
Because words are nice and to rhyme in verse
And curse at hate.
Emotions that can speak as echoes echoes echoes...
Often my words don’t dance, they are broken
They stumble and mumble prose
I am colour blind with words
Blue is grey
Orange is purple
And green doesn’t exist so often my images are obscured
As for sibilance I reject such sounds.
And onamatopia is a word I can never spell
So I SLASH pen to paper
SLASH pen to paper.
I’m not good with endings either.