–by becky Wtgh
Hello all, I’m in need of assistance
I can’t turn the rhyming off.
I started rhyming, don’t scoff–
This condition has a rather
The rhyme has momentum,
It’s propelling with no resistance
My mind’s gone now, you see
I began writing “poetry”
From dusk to dawn-ing
Open to close-ing
I’m rhyming everything, constantly.
I can’t turn the rhyming off–
Again sir PLEASE, don’t scoff!!
What about this is laughable to you?
Do you think I’d think this way,
Because I so choose?
By the way,
Why do blues singers sing the blues?
Without all the solos,
you would never notice
Their pain, green as chartreuse.
Weeping bodies in plain sight,
Musicians, poets, saints–
Begging us, pleading sympathy.
In order to be understood,
a singer must be fluent in empathy.
Love you, lust you,
Strap a knife on their shoe–
Stab you in the heart
bleed out your soul
Collect you, reduce you, reuse you
And sing it right back, filtered over charcoal.
Smoothe, silky. sweet and soulful.
Kind of like the rhythm in my mind
A rogue blues singer, bleating me blue
Permanent and penetrating, her
Rhythm rages relentlessly.
She whispers sweet nothings to me
Between sets, between cities
Rhythm and melody and
Cute little rhymes.
On top of all that–
She never lets me sleep,
She pounds me all night.
She says she hates me–
But I think we’re alright.
Oh, rhyming lover–
needy insecurity is such a bore
Leave my head be,
your rhythm is stuck here–