Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Caro Jan 2022
Why do men
The sweet ones
The good ones
Still only want to say your beautiful
And daring
And smart
And an unstoppable force
They only want to say it to you
But if you say it without them
Telling it to you first
Now your selfish
Now you didn't give them enough praise
Now you're vanity with too much self-praise

What if I know I'm beautiful
And strong
And courageous
And bold
And adventurous
And resilient
What if I know that without a man ever even entering the room

What if I don't want to be saved
Or fixed
Or complimented
Or comforted

Would you know what to do?
Nice man.

If I didn't need you?
Caro Jan 2022
It's been a while since I've been here
Since I've done this
It is quiet and calm but still passionate in its own way
Sometimes do you ever feel like the passion you have now is just burn marks left on the wall from a flame thats gone out?
I guess I do feel like that sometimes
But probably only when I'm tired.
Being self aware is a hard thing sometimes,
You can't lie to yourself like you used to
and you realize all the lies that kept your roof up
And now theres no roof and I'm that much closer to the stars because of it but sometimes there's a breeze that blows too cool
But then the other night a new friend
Asked if we could all share some poetry
And I realized
That magic and childhood and vulnerable smiles live all around me
All the years thinking
Knowing there was no one like me
No one to call "like me"
are long gone
Caro Jan 2022
An old woman sits alone in a room
Counting words as they fall from her mouth
Creaking and groaning
Falling from her mouth
Crackling down like dry leaves

She is dying tree
With roots that feed the earth

She wears a cloak around her shoulders
Tassels brushing at the floor
Capturing dust from all the rooms
In which she's sat and spoke before

She is spooky
She is powerful
Within her darkness and light

Her ample hips covers the ground beneath
Wrinkled and fallen flesh
Her crossed feet have walked for miles on earth barren and dry
And in a garden lush and supple is where she learned to cry,

She is the woman
My old woman
Who's come for my nightmares
To ***** away the part of me that cries when she is scared,

She beckons me into the night
With long fingers
Wrinkled, knobby, soft, veiny, calloused,
And says:
'Child don't be afraid
Your time is nigh
Trust me for I am your old woman
and I lead only where you will go'
I got a cowhide rug and it gave me this poem
Caro Aug 2020
Thank you for everything you ever did to me
Said to me
Thought of me
Thank you for the awakening
For the clash
Thank you for letting a famished lion drink
thank you for the visions
The melodrama
The in-tents-ity of my late youth
Could have never been such a tremendous explosion
With anyone but you
Caro Jul 2020
He’s just a boy
Who likes his friends
And prioritizes his comforts
And that’s so lovely
I can go to bed early
And feel like myself
Caro Jun 2020
The more I let my future be
The more she looks like me
Caro Jun 2020
I have been having
Good days that I work for
And I patiently await the return of
the middle moments where you look at the wall
While you’re taking a ****
And think
The wall is pleasant
And I feel good
Next page