I give you an example - two different sides of myself:
This I do like, and it's not completely unoriginal, but it's nothing new for experienced minds.
For me.
Give me a kiss, my love,
Sending shivers down my spine,
Your arms around my waist.
Let me know you're forever mine.
Pick me a leaf, my love,
Trace the veins with your fingers.
Then leave it to the wind
To keep it safe until it withers.
Tell me your dreams, my love,
And the meaning that they hold.
What corners of your mind
Do I have yet to explore?
Sing me a song, my love,
Close your eyes in that way of yours.
I'll drink the sound of your voice
And I'll always ask for more.
Now take my hand, my love,
Pull me down and hold me close.
Your love has become my drug,
So let me have my overdose.
And the ending was a tad out of place. Myah.
Compare with this -
The vain.
This is one of the caps that doesn't fit on the back of the pen.
(How unusual.)
And yet, that is but a trivial matter since the important are questioning where? and when?
(I'm musical.)
You probably already noticed, as I was humming some subtle, yet intelligent and classy tune.
(The obvious.)
The cap is on the table, on the floor, the arm of the armchair, perhaps this nonsense will be art, soon?
(Aren't I devious?)
But no, I must not be less than tasteful, although my curves can't help but be more.
(This isn't boring.)
And taste has no tolerance for melodrama, and only slight clichés, scrubbing breadcrumbs off the shore.
(My mother is snoring.)
My mother? Oh, yes, of course - I love and respect and care for her, yet am independent and strong.
(*sniff* Not mule-headed.)
The money comes tinkling in, and is gone with the trickster colours,
but what would sheep do without them? Baa along?
(I shall be wedded.)
If it is trendy at the time, naturally, you wouldn't expect anything less from me.
(She preens.)
Signed, Jolene.
Very experimental. Also to be taken rather seriously, and if you try, you can actually make sense of it.
You see the predicament I'm in? (:
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