So, this morning I woke up kinda sick to my stomach and with a horrible cough. There is a strong possibility that I have caught bronchitis from the most amazing guy in the world (my boyfriend, of course). It's also possible that it is merely a cough and a bad day. Now, you're thinking: "That bug came to you," but that's not true. You see, I was so Bored that I decided "Hmm, it would be an interesting thing to catch a disease today," and so that's what I did. It tried to escape, but I caught it, whatever it is, and I intend to keep it. No, you may not have it - it's mine, I caught it, and if you want a disease, you should go catch your own. I can't do everything for you: that would be so exceedingly boring. Since, of course, reading about how I caught a disease is probably pretty boring, here is a poem to entertain you (or bore you even more perhaps, tee hee). I wrote this a long time ago, so don't expect too much. It is, to this day, my one and only attempt at free verse. I bet you can't catch diseases as well as I can; just you TRY!
The Painter's Brush
Colors, dancing, twirling, coming alive
Cascading down, filling the world
With their beauty; vibrant hues
Mixing together, melting into one.
The scent of the painter’s easel
As he moves his brush
Scattering pigments onto the leaves
Filling the air with colored light.
This scent overwhelms me
Takes away my breath,
Makes me want to be
A part of the painting
To jump into the midst of the chaos
To be suffocated by the colors,
By the shades of orange and gold
Dancing around and in me
Moving me to feel,
To long to dance with them,
To have myself transformed,
Painted, remade, by the same brush.
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