vague kestrel
By: Not Mustard, Definitely Not Me
Deadpool ,A.K.A. The Guy Who Didn’t Sign Up for This Poetry Nonsense)
Roses are red,
Violets are lame,
I could rhyme all day,
But that’s not my game.
You see, I'm Deadpool—
The merc with the mouth.
I don’t do poetry,
But I’ll give it a douse.
(Wait, douse? That’s not a word I’d use. Who wrote this crap? Seriously, you’re fired.)
Let’s try this again—
No Shakespearean fluff.
I’m here to kick butt,
And say funny stuff.
I see you there,
With your judgy little eyes.
Thinking, "Deadpool? Poetry?
This has to be lies."
But nope, it’s me,
Breaking the fourth wall,
And guess what, nerd?
I’m watching you scroll.
Yep, that’s right!
You with the thumb.
Thinking you’re clever,
But really, just dumb.
(Okay, that was harsh. But hey, tough love, right? Now, where was I? Oh yeah—poetry.)
I could write about love,
Or kittens, or skies.
But who needs that junk
When I can make pies?
Yeah, I said pies,
What you gonna do?
Judge my rhymes?
I dare you, boo.
You think you’re so smart,
So witty, so sly.
But you’re reading my poem—
And that’s why you’ll die!
(Just kidding. Probably. Maybe. No promises.)
Now back to the action,
The blood, and the guts.
Let’s talk about bad guys,
And punching their butts.
Or maybe explosions,
Or swords in the air.
Or how I look stunning,
In spandex, I swear.
Oh, you’re still here?
Must be a fan.
Or maybe you’re just
A really bored man.
Either way, it’s cool,
We’re in this together.
Like peanut butter and jelly,
Or a head and its sever.
(Did I mention I’m single? No? Okay, moving on.)
But here’s the thing,
This poem’s a mess.
Kinda like my movies,
But you love them, confess.
So take this as a gift,
From me to you.
A nonsensical ramble,
With a hint of "screw you."
And scene! Curtain!
Whatever, I’m done.
Now go buy my merch,
Or I’ll shoot you for fun.
(Just kidding again! Or am I? Seriously, buy my stuff.)
uncut condor