Messy Poems

I am such a pig

two milky way wrappers
how long have they been sitting here?
the paint has worn off the c and the v on this keyboard
wedged between keyboard and monitor is a small roll of toilet paper
I am such a pig

there is the washing machine oxygen powder
I wondered what happened to it
three notebooks and a sketch pad are propped

Messy Jalopy of My Friend Vee

In her messy jalopy, she made a bit of room for me
had to pick up empties; I counted twenty-three
I said, “You really like cream soda, I see”
She gave me a nod and thumbs up, my friend Vee.

We gave been comrades for a while, have shared history.
She has never been a neatnik like her mom or

Is life truly an art or just a messy canvas I never asked to touch

Is life truly an art or just a messy canvas I never asked to touch,
and death the same, a final brushstroke or just a fear hidden in dark corners?
I ask this because, if life is art, then I suppose I am an artist,
but shouldn't artists love what they create, find peace in their works,
not feel

I need more color in your eyes

I need butter to be spread on my bread
I need wool worn lies pulled over my head
I need to be able to hold myself high
And see your face when I look to the sky

I need to know that you know that I’m here
I need the truth to be held everywhere
Never should children hold back their

Is My Hair Messy

Is my hair messy? Asked the fish with a swish.
Apparently, this was not the fish’s first wish.
For on his face, he was wearing red specs.
He stretched his muscles, giving me a flex.

I could not get past the glasses, did not notice the hair.
It is okay, I said, which was a stretch of me being fair
How

The Girl With Messy Hair

She walks like she’s carrying invisible things, memories stitched into the curve of her spine, questions no one’s ever answered clinging to her sleeves. The weird girl with messy hair doesn’t know how to sit still. Her thoughts move like storms, unpredictable and electric, sometimes kind, sometimes cruel. She writes poems in her head when

Messy Boys

Jibber jabber, pitter patter;
another one is screaming, now what's the matter?

Little feet, stinky feet,
how many rocks did you just eat?

Sticky hands, runny nose;
did you just pick your nose with your toes?

Booger picking, booger eating; 
do we need to have another prayer meeting?

Messy house, stained up clothes;
with these three boys, anything goes.

Terrible two's and attitude;
where'd they

Pomegranates aren’t messy

pomegranates aren’t messy. 
there quite a few
who don’t have a clue 
of how to handle the delicate fruit 
so it doesn’t spew

They take one look 
And determine its some type of crook 
don’t even take a moment 
To observe its unique tidiness
 
They take a spoon 
And don’t wait to gut it 
To make it

My Three Boys

It gets kind of crazy living with 3 young boys, there’s always a mess and there’s constant noise.
Their mouths constantly running, their little legs too; they rough-house like tiny wrestlers, off the couch they just flew.
They never get old, those silly fart jokes; and the noise and clanking of those bicycle spokes.
They change costumes every

Messy

A fraction of home,
Can she come to me? See?
Ignore the useless bodies,
They can’t have what’s mine.

Can’t even tell what’s a lie,
What is living? (Living, living, living.)
Why do you come back?

Dread is all it is,
It can’t hurt me, but my home SUFFERS

My hands are gross, coincide with my arm,
One is insecurity, the other is selfish.

Do you

Messy

Sometimes, I physically feel unable to clean my room.
Not because I’m lazy, or disorganized. 
Rather, because as I’m sitting cross legged on my floor, with various papers, trinkets, awards, and possessions around me
I just can’t find anything worth discarding. 
My pink monkey plush, it’s stuffing spilling out?— no, that was the plush he gave me.

She Never Let Her Daughters Keep Anything Messy

Persnickety fussbudget never had a mess
Raised two daughters – Wilhemina and Tess
They both became hoarders by age seventeen
No lie, I am not attempting to insult or be mean.

Their mother had spent years throwing their treasures away.
They hoard everything since they are emancipated and now have a say.
If she would have let us keep any of

MESSY PARTY

       When the fiesta
  comes to the a total mess,
     rats have their party...

Children of the Parade

Snot nosed, barefoot
Chanting, walk the streets
Spit flies from mouth, food on cheek
Green, ripe, and free
Dirty and unkempt
Unbridled and unmanageable
Wild child

Dolls and toy trucks
Mudpies and hopscotch
Bugs and jump rope
Torn clothes, holes in socks
Scraped knees and mud on shoes
Marching on, they're marching on
They're marching on

Drums rattle, off beat
Out of tune flutes, cowbells and slide whistles
Ringing bent triangles

strangled in her own messy maze

Her mood was somber, gloomy, macabre, sad.
Napping all day, nothing made her feel better.
It was raining out, terrific day for a funeral.
Too bad she does not know any dead people.

She returned to her bed, hating herself.
Missing her therapy appointment, but not caring.
Too down to want to get back up.
Her house is a hoarder’s house.

There are

• Short Messy Poems
• Famous Messy Poems
• Best Messy Poems
• Read Messy Poems
• Long Messy Poems
• Messy Quotes