She sits down in the chair,
And opens the tub ever so slowly.
Her hands shake a little as,
They gently remove the content.    

Each parcel is precious.
Perfectly wrapped in silver foil,
That shimmers in the rooms dimmed,
Lights. She stares at them with perceived admiration.

Or maybe she is just admiring herself?
Her brain refuses to remove their case,
She doesn't think she needs to,
Although she craves their warmth, the taste, everything is left unopened.

She can do without.

She is better than that.

Stronger.

The tub is thrown in the trash,
And she seeks satisfaction from the
Delayed reaction,
of her peers. Who's heads turn away
Before she,
Has taken a bite.

Are you waiting for a boy to give you flowers?
It's risky when you allow a stranger to control your happiness

Boys have flowers to give, but not to you
All of their flowers are wilting and dead

They use this as a tactic for pleasure
Adoration in exchange for ***

But you know that already…

You are worth flowers
You are worth the liveliest and the brightest

So don't be sad when you are left with none
No one wants dead flowers anyway

It was harrowing,
the way the darkness
crept into her cage
the sudden change
in demeanor
no longer
a will to share,
the teeth marks
she left behind
in the calves
of leg
the loss of mind,
employment,
fragment and bones,
the very fabric
of home lay
torn and bleeding,
her red ribbon muzzle
tear stained in
separation

It was harrowing,
the madness
pulling apart
at the seam of
consciousness,
and then
she disappeared,
as if she never began,
and all that
is left of her,
are her
blackbird eyes.

The Thames nocturne of blue and gold
Changed to a Harmony in grey:
A barge with ochre-coloured hay
Dropt from the wharf:  and chill and cold

The yellow fog came creeping down
The bridges, till the houses’ walls
Seemed changed to shadows and St. Paul’s
Loomed like a bubble o’er the town.

Then suddenly arose the clang
Of waking life; the streets were stirred
With country waggons:  and a bird
Flew to the glistening roofs and sang.

But one pale woman all alone,
The daylight kissing her wan hair,
Loitered beneath the gas lamps’ flare,
With lips of flame and heart of stone.

I lied to my mother about talking to you because last time I told her we talked, she cried.
2. My biggest fear is that no matter what I do, I won't ever get over you.
3. Everywhere I go, I find you. I suppose it's because I carry you in my heart.
4. I didn't believe in soul mates until I met you. You didn't complete me, you complemented me.
5. Sometimes I can't sleep because I'm thinking of you. Other nights I don't want to sleep because I know I'll dream of you.
6. You make my hands shake and my stomach hurt. I don't think love is suppose to feel this way.
7. I miss you even when you're not away. I hate it but it's always been that way.
8. Sometimes I think we were meant to be. Everything was right except our timing.
9. It's been two years too late but I still look for your face in a crowded room.
10. You felt like home but if there's anything I've learned recently, it's that home is so very temporary.
11. I never knew craving touch was a thing until I saw your hands.
12. You are the whirlwind of thoughts I could never put into words.
13. I write about you like you put the stars in the sky.
14. I don't want to forget you but somedays I regret you.
15. I don't always like you but I always love you.

No matter what new trick he tried
A new deodorant or mouth freshener
Sideburns, swagger or rascally scowl
She yawned, wore her pretty little frown
And swore that he was playing the gem
When he was just another line in her poem

No matter what new-fangled idea he brought
She told him plain and square in caustic words
He wasn’t an iota of what she wanted or sought
So he went back to nights of pining and misery
And morning vigils for the postman’s delivery
Hoping to be more than just another line in her poem

Thinking and believing he could leave and learn
He went abroad to build his sunken profile
In places where none could ever him deride or stifle
Since there’s always some safety in anonymity
But when finally he landed on their shores again
He was still not more than just another line in her poem

So let's live and learn to read the writing on the wall
No matter what; and no matter how this order might be tall
For it matters not what fantasies or novelties you conjure
From what exotic lands or eccentric peoples far and wide
She remains spoken for by the high ideals of her imagination
And you forever will be just another line in her waspish poem