High Style

I flip flop,
on the drip drop,
for no flies,
can tie me down.

To strangle,
and mangle,
is to bedazzle,
the inhabitable.

While I walk,
leisurely,
I reminisce.

A time when teacher said I was no good.

The time I fell off my bike and no one helped me.

A straw,
draws,
this lonely little heart,
only to mangle the little pieces,
and drink it up quite right.

My lonely wordsmith,
is chewing on the verbs,
and counting the punctuation errors as we speak,
but the mind is screaming "fuck you!"

Expressionism is real,
and shouldn't be limited to the ALA's rules.

I put a comma here,
and an extra space there,
developing my own style of rhyming.

Don't shy away from pushing the limits,
for that cold,
no hold barrels,
will be lost forever.