Kneel and beg for a poem about the post 90s Write a poem about the post 90s

The non-mainstream of the post-90s.

1. In the season of your birth.

Someone else opened the door and window.

Let you and me breathe in that refreshing cool breeze.

The harshness of summer in July.

Penetrated the wings of mosquitoes and flies.

Bring you helpless pain.

Sadness becomes a non-mainstream theme.

The helplessness of being abandoned.

In the lost years.

Learned to irrigate the earth with tears.

Intoxicated and helpless wheat.

There is no source of survival.

Exile yourself and wander on the edge of the city.

Unnatural faults in the cracks.

Greed takes control of nature.

Bloodthirsty mainstream.

Isolated non-mainstream.

The golden autumn of the sad rendering of the earth.

Black became eternal.

2. The moment of exile for eternity.

Torrential rain with the roar of lightning.

The golden autumn land engulfed by the storm.

Grief paves the way for feelings.

Tears burst it out.

Crying became a cathartic helplessness.

Blood-red peasants.

Shriveled after the killing.

Sow the season of hope.

Black golden autumn.

Indulgent decadent theme.

Helpless black pursuit.

Wait to learn to pursue. Guileless.

The aroma of wine brewed on the barren mountain beams.

The drunken post-90s.

Become a sincere exile for the peasants.

The edge of the gap in the flow of traffic in the city.

Loss becomes waiting.

Black renders the rural sky.

The moment when the shriveled peasant starved to death.

The non-mainstream has become the helplessness of the post-90s.

You can join the post-90s beauty Q bar. Yes.

The memory of childhood is a melodious pastoral song, hidden in the bumps on the back of the ox, hiding in the gaps of the flock, floating in the green fields, haunting the depths of the soul. Don't think about it, it's unforgettable.

The memories of childhood are a set of elegant poems, floating in the hazy drizzle, flowing in the clear stream, with the fragrance of grass, the beauty of flowers, the freshness of the wind, and the change of clouds, ethereal into a beautiful lyric poem.

The memories of childhood are a gaudy picture, suspended on colored brushes, growing in a fantastic imagination. The images that come to mind are frozen on the white paper, left in the messy drawers.

Childhood memories are colorful tales sprinkled in the beautiful dresses of the princesses, perched on the handsome white horses of the princes, remembering the hatred of witches and the fear of monsters, and the hope of a happy ending.

The memories of childhood are a string of sweet and sour rock sugar gourds, condensing the vast world. Immersed in the joy of getting exquisite sweets and the sadness of the delicious ice cream falling to the floor, the tearful eyes are instantly replaced by an irrepressible smile.

The memory of childhood is a colorful kite, the yearning to fly in the clear blue sky, the cheerful steps contain the pride of the leader, and the confident smile reveals the pride of growth.

Childhood memories are like a swing, every ripple is a happy laughter, the world becomes vivid and illusory, flowers and plants become smart and hazy.

The memories of childhood are a string of purple wind chimes hanging from the branches of memory, floating in magnificent dreams. The beating notes bring endless joy and excitement to the young mind.

The memory of childhood is a colorful rubber band, accompanied by simple and pleasant nursery rhymes, with the jumping footsteps, sweat drenched into rain, and a gorgeous colorful flower blooms in my heart.

Childhood memories are a long alley. As the sun sets, the mother's affectionate call wafts from the depths of the alley, and when the friends scatter, the air is filled with the fragrance of dinner.

That casual glance was a shock, a shyness, a dazzle in the heart, and it was inexplicably recited.

Otherwise, in the vast sea of people.

Why only do I see you.

I suddenly had an urge to get acquainted.

I look at you alone.

My body was already bound by thoughts.

My heart is like a long bell with strings.

How can I forget you?

In the vast sea of people.

I've been searching for you.

Every place is a place of hope.

I know as soon as I turn around.

You're right in that corner.

There is a sunny corner in the sun.

Smile at me.

Two blue, purple, yellow.

Which is your favorite color?

You're wearing a blue shirt.

I recognize you at a glance.

This large number is printed on the chest.

Like a basketball player who is about to play the court.

You're wearing a purple shirt.

I recognize you at a glance.

Swaggering flags.

Eye-catching scenery.

You're wearing a yellow shirt.

I recognize you at a glance.

Fresh and elegant beige.

It's a moment in the early autumn sun.

It's a smile that tugs up at the corners of your mouth.

I'm just searching in this sea of people.

Blue, purple, yellow.

Which is your favorite color?

Three if one day.

I lost my memory, and I forgot the people and things I was familiar with.

Forget I'm in **.

Even forget if the sun rises in the east.

Whether the tears are a slightly salty, icy liquid.

Suppose I lose my memory.

I forgot my name.

Forgot about my past.

But the only thing I can't forget is you.

Every word you make.

Every move.

It's all soldering irons. It's all needles to pass through my heart.

Leave a deep imprint.

Let me how to forget you.

If one day.

I lost my memory.

But I still do one repetitive thing every day thinking about you.

Sleep in a row in class, don't know all exams, basically single digits, smoke and play cards, never queue up for dinner, skip class in groups, send text messages to arrears, spend money on the street, pass through like intoxicated, forget the tiredness underground, show off the hand bones to smash, ask and close your eyes, the speeding car will not retreat, the monster is not guilty of cutting people, long live the garbage school.

The two love poems by post-90s writer Yao Guangyuan are very touching. Hope to be adopted by you.

The Sky and Me can't accommodate the world's sky, can it still accommodate your heart?

The leaves fall off from here, and the lively and lovely little sparrows also die here.

I lost my way, and I saw only two lighthouses in the distance.

You have always maintained my memories of the past, and I can only confide in you, as always, with deep love, like the vast land of China, a certain night, a deserted village, the expectation of the starry sky.

Life = Watching the Heavens? 》

I like your quiet eyes.

It's a sad rainbow under a dusty sky.

I imagined a romantic acquaintance and.

It is full of the unique depth of life.

When I no longer whimper, the cold winter burns the flowers and plants.

When I turn around, you are already the warm spring that follows behind me.

Maybe in your arrogant eyes.

I don't have the splendor of the sun's rays.

Maybe by your full side.

I'm not a hero with a beacon in my hand.

Like an eternal sculpture is immutable.

I'm proud, withdrawn, distant and direct.

I am willful, depressed, cowardly and lazy.

However, I would rather for you, squander the pain that cannot be burned in this life on your territory, listen quietly to your breathing, and continue your sorrows.

Disappointment, your disappointment, happiness, your happiness.

I'd rather be like flowers for you.

Fragrance my beauty to you every spring.

I'd rather be for you, not like flowers.

Escape death in the late autumn and winter.

I just want to keep all my flowers.

Waiting for you and looking forward to your happiness.

Waiting for you to look back at me gently.

I'd rather choose reincarnation as a human for your sake.

Still smiling across from you.

Or stay on the other side of the network.

Watch you walk towards that stream.

Thou shalt smooth the way for me.

Or release the lonely narcissistic bird back into the wild.

If it weren't for being touched by you this time.

I will not be like the rain clouds in the sky.

Put your most precious tears.

Flowing in the vast world.

How to love you.

Arctic Jun love poems.

1.Hold an umbrella for you in the rain.

Ignoring his wet back.

And use my left hand to protect your left shoulder.

2.Every festival.

All send you flowers. Whisper a word to each one.

3.Even the "cold dew" will not let go of this day.

Buy your favorite plush toys.

No matter how many malls you walk.

Also look for the "little bunny" with the symbol on your body

4.On your birthday.

Use the youth candle you use.

Lay out your name.

5.Gets you a box of candy on a blue Sunday.

May you have a sweet weekend.

I searched for that beautiful box all Saturday afternoon.

6.Accompany you on a Friday evening for a walk from work.

I'll tell you fairy tales from books.

It is also deliberately emphasized that there is a kind of tree that can grow huts.

7.When you're most frustrated.

Take you on a trip to the seaside.

Holding the blue sea in both hands and putting it in the palm of your hand and saying loudly that your mood is as wide as the seaAt a time when life is at its most strained.

Also to give you a good future.

Stretch out your index and middle fingers and say that in two years, I will definitely buy you the car you like9In ordinary language.

Write the most sincere words.

Sneak into the books you read regularly.

10.Find a dark night.

Look at the stars in the sky.

Talk about your happiness together.

11.Cold winter.

In that heated hot pot restaurant.

Prepare your favorite luncheon meat long ago.

Error Zheng Chouyu.

I hit Jiangnan and walked through.

The face that waits in the season is like a lotus flower.

The east wind does not come, and the catkins in March do not fly.

Your heart is like a little lonely city.

Just like the bluestone street is late.

The sound of trampling is not sounded, and the spring curtain of March is not opened.

Your heart is a little window closed.

My Dada's hooves are beautiful mistakes.

I'm not a returnee, I'm a passerby......

Now the non-mainstream poetry of the post-90s generation is more inclined to the development of Fang Wenshan's no-makeup rhyme poems, and you can pay more attention to this aspect of poetry.

You're just an NC.,Still gray mainstream.。。。 I'm convinced!!

Oh, write it yourself, it's a pity, it's hard to help you, I'm a post-80s generation.

The non-mainstream of the post-90s.

1. In the season of your birth.

Someone else opened the door and window.

Let you and me breathe in that refreshing cool breeze.

The harshness of summer in July.

Penetrated the wings of mosquitoes and flies.

Bring you helpless pain.

Sadness becomes a non-mainstream theme.

The helplessness of being abandoned.

In the lost years.

Learned to irrigate the earth with tears.

Intoxicated and helpless wheat.

There is no source of survival.

Exile yourself and wander on the edge of the city.

Unnatural faults in the cracks.

Greed takes control of nature.

Bloodthirsty mainstream.

Isolated non-mainstream.

The golden autumn of the sad rendering of the earth.

Black became eternal.

2. The moment of exile for eternity.

Torrential rain with the roar of lightning.

The golden autumn land engulfed by the storm.

Grief paves the way for feelings.

Tears burst it out.

Crying became a cathartic helplessness.

Blood-red peasants.

Shriveled after the killing.

Sow the season of hope.

Black golden autumn.

Indulgent decadent theme.

Helpless black pursuit.

Wait to learn to pursue. Guileless.

The aroma of wine brewed on the barren mountain beams.

The drunken post-90s.

Become a sincere exile for the peasants.

The edge of the gap in the flow of traffic in the city.

Loss becomes waiting.

Black renders the rural sky.

The moment when the shriveled peasant starved to death.

The non-mainstream has become the helplessness of the post-90s.