Friends That Died

I knew it was too good to be true.

A broken friendship risen from the dead,

Now it’s skin is rotting, turning black and blue.

It is not the same as it was before,

I tried so hard to make it work,

But it inexplicably became a horror.

I knew it was going to end,

Because I’m terrified of zombies,

And you don’t know how to be a friend.

If your character weakness is cutting ties

And your nose to spite your face,

Then giving you second chances must be mine.

This is where we finally die.

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Cheating Material

I found myself in an odd and ‘slightly’ traumatizing situation. Long story short: I was accused of having an affair with someone’s boyfriend, who was a close friend of mine. Honestly, I laughed when I heard the accusation, because I haven’t seen this guy in person in well over two years. Needless to say, the friendship has ended and now I need to process. So I do what I always do: write poetry.

I’m the woman girlfriends are scared of

The friend of their boyfriend

Who they like more than they love.

She suspects that he wants me

So she loves him just enough.

Until she makes it a lot more tough.

I’m quite harmless, really

No crimes have been committed

Just long talks that were silly

No actions were taken

So why does he act so guilty?

It’s not like we did anything filthy.

I’m doing fine, trying to live my best life

But communication was cut

Now I know our friendship was a lie.

Gave you a chance, tried to act cool

But you just gave me nothing but spite

And that’s how I know that I am right.

Stuck in a love that’s imperial.

His girl censors his friendships

So her love becomes managerial.

What do I care? I’ve been here before

I don’t stick around for the friendship’s burial.

At least I know I’m cheating material.

Follow on Twitter @JoyPearson Instagram @this_joyful_life

Generated Poetry: The Formulation of Love

I’m on this kick where I use a word generator to give me 6 random words that I incorporate into a poem. I imagine I’ll be posting many of these, so bear with me (or not…. this is my website after all. So if you don’t like this, fuck you, go somewhere else to read garbage poetry that stinks more than mine!)

Generated words: Afternoon, Imposter, wept, Serum, Formulation, Deplorable.


The formulation of love can be rather tricky

It suffers from a deplorable lack of compassion

It’s also often ironically witty…

A cure-all serum does not exist

Safe for the hours in the afternoon I’ve wept

Over memories of when I was last kissed.

I feel like an imposter in my own head

Pretending I don’t have these memories

Of you, me, and our love you killed, dead.



For more spontaneous stupidity, follow my twitter @JoyPearson