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NaPoWriMo

Who is the me that writes? (A Noir-ish Poem for Day 9)

The rain is falling oh so fast
and it feels like time is slipping past
‘cuz my reflection in the looking glass
keeps changing

who is the me that writes these words?
a mother, daughter, wife
& are you friend or foe?
i never know
who to trust on the roads of life

beware the ides of march, they say
but what of april late?
who knows what chaos will ensue
when we’re driven to create

 

 

Itty Bitty was a cat
the likes you’ve never seen
her tubby body was so fat
she’d never be a beauty queen
one day I saw her catch a rat
and play with it, that fiend —
her temperament had seemed so sweet
but if she could, it’s me she’d eat

 

Author’s Note: This is my attempt at today’s NaPoWriMo prompt for an ottava rima poem. My apologies to Itty Bitty, who was generally a very nice cat, and lived a long life for a kitty.