I just want to say that I really hate poetry! Writing it is horrible =/ I had to write a poem about a piece of furniture and I was suppose to play around with language. What the hell is that suppose to mean? I can't even write proper English sometimes and my professor expects me to play with language. I have a feeling I will fail my creative writing class because of this!
This is what I wrote...
My Piece of Furniture
As a queen it lay in the middle of the room
bare and white; naked until fresh new garment
covered it's soft silky texture with colors like
mint green, tangerine, or daisy yellow.
Pillows roofed it's tip like overlapping clouds
and multi layered sheets protected it's inner core.
It's peppermint feel stung my delicate skin
like frost bite as I pressed myself against it.
I allowed the warmth of my body to simultaneously
work with its icy surface to reach equilibrium.
It slowly accepted my shape, engulfing me,
embracing my outer being with its cotton touch.