PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

by Rex Songs 

It's Saturday night; 
I sit pensive in this booth 
Music fills my ears 
from this disquieting muse 
I hear a cheap and evil girl 
In this expensive righteous world 
I see myself under this spell 
in which my life's been hurled

And I know... 
There is a rush on that song from her CD 
I got a crush on the singer they call Bree 
Bree Sharp with the brown eyes 
Her remarks epitomize 
I write and I wonder 
Which spell I am under 
Her beauty and splendor 
Or lyrical blender? 
Her rhymes have a reason 
And I'm also smitten

My friends all tell me, 
"Dude, you know she's out of your league," 
But she fills my cup and I drink her teaze 
I taste her lexicon in sips 
Guzzling down words 
from her Gina Gershon lips

Watching MTV all day 
"Cause her video I want to see 
Where's she's naked, painted like Ol' Glory 
The singer they call Bree 
You cannot tell me 
That she's another Christina or Britney 
Angelic yet sneery, 
she writes her own lyrics 
Hell, she's twenty-three!

The singer they call Bree 
Why won't you love me?

Ooooooooo....

My letter is done 
and I'm ready to send her a sweet e-mail 
I want to try with Bree 
'cause I've failed with every other female 
Shaking my head like a buffoon 
Her posters adorn my room 
Frantically I search E-bay 
for an elusive twelfth tune

And I pray... 
The woman they call Bree 
Might understand me 
Though it's a parody 
It might just become thee 
Death of Duchovny 
In that clever intricate mind 
I push him by and hope she'll find 
All along the man who's been 
writing soul-mate poetry 
For the woman they call Bree 
Why won't you love me? 
Why don't you love me? 
Or at least think of me

Yeah...

I'll be waiting... 
On route 38...