Pretty Ugly Poem Novels & Stories

She looked in the mirror, not really liking what she saw, especially when those words echoed in her head. "You've changed." She lowered her gaze a little disappointed. --I can't do anything, that's just the way I am. She whispered a little. She took the resume that was on the nightstand; she glanced at it to see if she had put everything in correctly; it was actually almost empty. She poured herself a cup of coffee along with a piece of toast, and when she bit into it, the bread reminded her that she hadn't eaten anything for almost two days; she hadn't noticed because of the sadness she felt. She tried not to think about her misfortune anymore, so she finished her bread and her coffee. Alic

I was just focused on the book I was reading, pretending not to hear them. “Hey ugly,” one of them called out. “Hope you are not planning to show up tonight.” I pushed back my glasses that were falling off my nose and continued reading. One of them walked to my desk, grabbed my book and dropped it to the floor. “You don't ignore beauty like us.” She said, titling her head smugly. She continued “have you gotten a prom date? Oops, I forgot. Nobody will want an ugly duckling like you to be their date.”

He groaned as I moved faster on him, the slapping of our skins obscenely mixing with my moans. “You said poems are poems just because they can’t be real… but Sunshine, you have always been the most beautiful poetry I have ever known. I have read a thousand poems and in every word, I have found you. But I never found a word that could define the reality that you are…” he said. Another flutter erupted in my insides, making their way to my belly and up my chest. I peered at him blankly. In a swift pull, he pulled me upon himself, slamming into me faster as he spoke.

~ Many Years Ago ~ Imagine you walking down a dirt road with people wearing just robes and nothing on their feet—children shaking in the cold, begging for food and water. The neighborhood is infested with files as bodies lay across the street. This is my home, the kingdom of Satia—a beautiful country where even people experiencing poverty have beauty.

she quoted. Your voice is like a bird, but everyone’s ears are bleeding. From the inside, your house shines and shines, but from the outside, you can see it’s built from bones. From out here, it looks like a graveyard, and the garden’s all ash. And besides, your breath stinks. We’re through. She remembered a poem she read by Ross Gay years ago and burst out into laughter. " The last line always gets me." She laughed harder, almost falling off her bed.

he said. “That’s because it’s amazing.” The poem he had on his mind that day was the poem he read was made by one Albert Meyer. “The intricacy of the story told using the simplicity of the words make for a much compelling piece.” He was so excited when he finally found it in one of the deep literature threads by the net land and was even more excited to show it to August. He continued his dissection, “And did you notice, that the three stanzas were just the same story over and—”

Immediately he was in the comfort of his fancy car, he sighted a fresh sheet of paper on his dashboard and took it at once. Looking through the front and back pages, Yomi discovered that it was some sort of poem with no name on it, so he decided to read it out of curiosity. It reads thus: How exquisite is this view as I revisit you Words of love begin to write as I sigh in delight The day has only started and my eyes have spilled with tears They have never parted from what lies fulfilled by years God, are you so beautiful and nothing but divine I beg of you to see like me, oh why not redefine

After the interrogation that day, fuck had a grown woman like me craving, but since there was no cock around and no vibrator, I had to use my fingers to oh yeah that's the spot. When I was done with the masturbation, just then on my phone, a notification beeped in on my Facebook. It didn't seem like me receiving my porn, instead, it was a poem from someone with no profile picture or picture on his wall. His username says Mr Romantic and his poem read, I can never look at a drop of dew in a buttercup without beholding shafts of love in the retreats of your eyes In you there is unity; your face and form is a blend of perfect line and contour

He was silent for a while before starting to slowly swirl his head from side to side and reciting. “Drinking deep into Autumn's night. “Feeling like puking the next day’s light. “Though I was annoyed and bored. “I lamented.” The minute he finished, he anxiously asked Penny, “Gorgeous Penny, my poem is pretty meaningful right? Do you think I have hopes of becoming the champion?” At his words, Jewel could not help but spit the candy in her mouth out before smiling and said, “Haha! Mister, this man’s poem is interesting. He just did doggerel! Haha!”

“Let’s see it.” I turned the paper over, and revealed the poem scrawled in pencil on the back. Down the streets of woodland black I wander, earth to hearse In every tree I see a wave A looming tidal curse On the cusp of something greater Stood ankle-deep in floodwater Stagnant pools of brown and red The onslaught is coming; I dread For each dark night and each pearl day The mist does clear too soon The floodplain is drown’d again The water, torn from its ocean womb