the ugly writers



she was stuck in a vicious cycle

ambivalence flowed in her ichor

all this time she’s in a pendulum

in a perpetual glee and gloom

pondering if she’ll go through or not

rather than just keeping her mouth shut

relying only on written rhymes

inscribing adoration in lines

installing hints in her poetry

not wanting to tell him directly

longing for his attention, she prayed

and hoped that he read the clues she laid

For only through these codes she could speak

To someone who’s truly angelic

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