lunga - Hello Poetry

Lunga is unavailable at the moment She is busy, yes, very busy being busy Can I take a message? I'll be sure to let her know that she is wasting her life away Whats that? She shouldn't be sitting behind a desk Glaring hopelessly and daydreaming gloriously about life beyond the window Doing frivolous paperwork that is working her into an early grave Crushing her soul with each second she stays cooped up in small talks, heavy sighs and frequent walks to the toilet Alright, anything you would like to add? Okay, you say she should be outside in the rain, and the sunshine you say Masking all the beauty Speaking canvas, hearing paint and writing art I'll be sure to let her know Thank you conscious Good bye.

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Feb 3, 2014

Feb 3, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC

lunga

15.25 - 15.35

Lunga is unavailable at the moment She is busy, yes, very busy being busy Can I take a message? I'll be sure to let her know that she is wasting her life away Whats that? She shouldn't be sitting behind a desk Glaring hopelessly and daydreaming gloriously about life beyond the window Doing frivolous paperwork that is working her into an early grave Crushing her soul with each second she stays cooped up in small talks, heavy sighs and frequent walks to the toilet Alright, anything you would like to add? Okay, you say she should be outside in the rain, and the sunshine you say Masking all the beauty Speaking canvas, hearing paint and writing art I'll be sure to let her know Thank you conscious Good bye.

16

I held the door open with no intention of letting him in Answered his calls, replied his texts "Okay" "yes, I'm fine" "what's that?" "Oh no I'm busy today" I'll be busy tomorrow I'm always too busy doing nothings but enough not see him He is determined I am his one, I am his only and only I will pull the trigger But not now. I hold the door open as he races up the stairs sweating...heaving...trying I cringe at the sight of his desperation He will never have my heart like before I will never give it away like before This I know and am sure of This he doesn't Like dangling a biscuit in front of a dog watching him slobber I take a peep, lean all my weight against the door and shut it close and listen to him whimpering outside.

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Aug 5, 2013

Aug 5, 2013 at 9:45 AM UTC

lunga

I held the door open

I held the door open with no intention of letting him in Answered his calls, replied his texts "Okay" "yes, I'm fine" "what's that?" "Oh no I'm busy today" I'll be busy tomorrow I'm always too busy doing nothings but enough not see him He is determined I am his one, I am his only and only I will pull the trigger But not now. I hold the door open as he races up the stairs sweating...heaving...trying I cringe at the sight of his desperation He will never have my heart like before I will never give it away like before This I know and am sure of This he doesn't Like dangling a biscuit in front of a dog watching him slobber I take a peep, lean all my weight against the door and shut it close and listen to him whimpering outside.

22

E. E. Cumming’s “I like my body when it is with your body”. On completion of the reading, I noticed that there is a type of love. Foreign and inaudible to me. And never have I been loved as such. He wrote about her. What a treat, to be with someone I inspire so much that he would write such careful words about me. What is sad? That I have loved in a similar way. Writing, expressing your beauties. What is sad? In turn, I have never been loved and written of. Never felt it. And so I hope someday I am with a someone who not only loves me openly, but secretly, in solitude, with a pen and paper.

0

Jul 18, 2013

Jul 18, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC

lunga

In Response

E. E. Cumming’s “I like my body when it is with your body”. On completion of the reading, I noticed that there is a type of love. Foreign and inaudible to me. And never have I been loved as such. He wrote about her. What a treat, to be with someone I inspire so much that he would write such careful words about me. What is sad? That I have loved in a similar way. Writing, expressing your beauties. What is sad? In turn, I have never been loved and written of. Never felt it. And so I hope someday I am with a someone who not only loves me openly, but secretly, in solitude, with a pen and paper.

7