Your words, your touch, your smile
They lure me in
Much like a siren’s song
Unleashing a deep-seated need, which can’t be explained
Drawing me close to you
Wanting to fall into you
To give myself over to you completely
Allow you to touch my very core
Even as the jagged boulders of your coast threaten to destroy my vessel and leave me shattered upon your beach
Sing to me. . . .
How many goodbyes must there be?
Love always walking away from me
Leaving me standing
Alone
Broken
My heart shattered
Yearning for a man to speak kindnesses
Not lies
How many lessons must there be?
This was this week’s submission over at WordCloud Wednesdays. I was unable to come up with anything for the last couple of weeks, but this one seemed to flow easily. I guess you just never know when it’s going to come, or how. A couple of days ago, it felt like drudgery to write, but my bad poetry has seem to come easy the last couple of days.
brick by brick
with every harsh word
or raised hand
that’s how I built it up
concrete and reinforcing steel
with unkind comments and condescending names
that’s how I built it up
your compliments, your attentiveness
it chisels away at the mortar and brick
the way your eyes look at me, the way your hand seeks mine to hold
it jackhammers the foundation
you saying I am beautiful, that you don’t understand how someone hasn’t snatched me up before
makes the foundation crumble
careful, so careful
don’t let the foundation crumble
don’t let the walls collapse
run, gather supplies
shore up the walls, fortify your defenses
no one can be allowed in
once they are inside the walls can come down too quickly
leaving you exposed to the elements of love
little pig, little pig
let me in
fuck you, I said to the big, bad wolf
Photo Credit: tumbler.com
So it’s no secret that I love my Wordle Wednesdays. Well, today it really is “My Wordle Wednesday”, since Kira asked if she could use a post I wrote the other day, the one about self-love. If you enjoy poetry, you should head over there and check it out, and maybe even contribute. Here’s what I came up with today:
Hateful
destructive words
Full of spite
Belittle and demean
Flaws articulated
DON’T!!
Know your worth
Speak kindly
Love yourself best
Photo Credit: Harvey Nichols Walk of Shame Christmas Cards http://www.mirror.co.uk
walk of shame
played the game
what’s your name
whose to blame
I need the fame
now don’t feel the same
I’m just some dame
walk of shame
*I have never been fond of verse that rhymes for some reason, but am quite aware this one does. It might also be considered a type of alliteration. Really, I don’t have to have a name for it, and don’t really know why I am explaining myself–I used it specifically for effect.
your icy tendrils grip my heart
you claw at my gut
my head reels from you
I am unable to escape
though I run
knowing I can’t slow down
because at every turn
there you are
why do you pursue me so
you stalk me
you hunt me down wherever I am
the only relief it seems
will come from death
whether it be of me or you
I know not
Photo Credit: mare-of-night.deviantart.com
Fini
Poisoned memory
of forgotten love
You, a beast with a snout
in princely clothing
Me, bloodied by your volatility
In those moments you killed instantly,
every small kindness
Take your bow,
this is the end
Don’t let the door hit you in the ass
Kira, over at My Pen, My Sword, started Wordle Wednesdays awhile back, and immediately I was addicted! She was on hiatus for a bit, dealing with some personal issues, but recently came back. So glad you’re back, Kira, and am happy you brought back Wordle Wednesday too, now with its very own site! Go visit Wordle Wednesdays, and get your creative juices flowing with a little poetry!
**I struggled putting this poem together. Usually they come very easily to me, the words just fly off the page at me, I grab them, arrange them, and am done in a couple minutes time. It didn’t happen that way today. I feel so shut down right now, like I can’t hardly write, the words won’t come because I have no feelings about anything right now.
Men leave
Eventually they all leave
Does it bother me when they leave?
Maybe a little, but it passes
But you,
Your leaving was different
I still can’t forget that you left
You know why?
Because every time one of them leaves,
It reminds me that I still miss you
We loved the brokenness in each other.
The flaws, the shortcomings.
The healthy parts were an obstacle to our relationship.
The good things about me were overlooked, made fun of, trampled on.
I tried to find the goodness in you.
I really did.
Every once in awhile I thought I would catch a glimpse of it,
then it would vanish into thin air, propelled by negativity and harsh words.
Now what I thought was your handsome face, is gone too.
Your ugly soul has shown through, turning you into an ogre.
I told you to vacate my premises,
but you don’t,
you never will.
You’re a squatter,
a dirty, filthy
squatter.
I don’t know when you moved in.
You’ve lived here as long as I can remember.
It seems you walked up the steps,
with bags in hand,
when I was around the age of 9 or 10,
but maybe memory fails me.
Maybe you were here all along,
hidden in the attic,
locked away from the neighbors and visitors,
because you weren’t like all the others.
You might be an embarrassment.
At some point you came out,
and settled in some room,
in my soul hotel.
“GET THE FUCK OUT!!”
I have screamed at you,
numerous times,
sometimes over and over again,
for years. . . . .
to no avail.
At some point I decided to just
let you be. . . .
Let you continue to occupy the space
I had hoped might one day be taken up by healing and hope.
I accepted that you were never going away,
you, like some piece of bad furniture
you can’t throw out because it belonged to a long dead family member.
Now I embrace you,
and leave mints on your pillow each night before sleep,
as though you were a guest,
and not
the squatter
that you are.
*I had never thought about it before, but I might possibly need to start saying that my poetry, and writing, are mine, and not to be used by anyone else. I have seen others doing it, saying their items are owned by them, and maybe I need to add that disclaimer as well. Some day I might like to take all this bad poetry, and put it in a little book for posterity, and my son. Some day, my son will be grow enough to see who I really am, and hopefully love me even more.
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