Poetry doesn’t have to rhyme, it just has to touch someone where your hands couldn’t.
Stop calling me “someone’s daughter”.
That should be enough reason not to hurt me.
"Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.
Four be the things I’d been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.
Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.
Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.