Life is a cliché
You can’t convince me otherwise
They told me not to drink the Kool-Aid
So I drank Sprite on ice
Actions speak louder than words
That’s what my mother always said
She doesn’t say it now
Because she is dead
Time heals all wounds
As does my bed
When you think outside the box
It messes with your head
I could read a story
Don’t forget my snack
You can’t judge a book by its cover
The words might attack
At the end of the day
It all becomes the low-hanging fruit
What exactly is it you want me to do
There are twelve clichés in my rhyme
I couldn’t pick just one on a dime
So stitch these all on a pillow
And inspire the next gullible fellow
~The leader of one of my writer's groups, the Mississippi Valley Writers Guild, challenges us every other week to write a poem or prose on a prompt topic. I know nothing of poems, so I am using this opportunity to practice and learn.
"Take ten minutes and find the most cliché or worst first sentence and still write a great piece." As you can see, I don't always follow directions well, as this piece has twelve clichés. What can I say? I get a thrill when I rebel.
Will you rebel as I did, or can you pull off this challenge?
With Love, Niki B
