Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2021 · 27
if only u could hear
reb Jul 2021
any man that thinks that he needs to
drown a girl in compliments
ply her with alcohol
and get her alone away from her friends
in order to have a good time, is no man at all.
He is a coward. His insecurity reeks almost as much as his cologne.

i wish you could hear the pleading in your voice,
as you try to justify your connection.
it breaks my heart to hear you
try to convince yourself that this is right.

can't you see that if you must resort to
timid, desperate entreaties
as to the validity and nature of your relationship,
that something is
at the core of your connection.

if you feel that you have to rationalize
how quick he was to begin
touching, holding, and manipulating you
with alcohol, hands, words, whatever he could,
as you were alone, incapacitated,
unable to even lift your head,
then i fear for you.

i fear for you with a fear that strikes deep.
it pierces my heart and makes it bleed
as it weeps for your own forgotten worth
as a person, as a woman,
as a human deserving of respect and true admiration.

you are worth so much more than
a pretty boy with pretty eyes
that whispers sweet nothings in your ear
and leaves sweet kisses on your skin with his touch
even as he packs his bags to leave
and never look back.

i beg you
to look at what this is.
to look at what this could/couldn't be.
and remember just how precious
and beautiful you are.
and how you are worth far more
than vague compliments
and innuendos.
Mere flirtations do not sum up
to the total value of the prize of your heart.

you are more than a lonely girl
seeking to fill a void.
you are deserving of true, lasting,
caring love, from a person that values you
for more than just your body and humor.

you can't seal a hole with gravel.
with the slightest movement, the tiniest tremble,
the stones just come falling out,
one by one,
till it's empty again.

may you find a way and a wish
to fill your heart with people that
truly want to take up
permanent residence.
May 2021 · 49
what if
reb May 2021
what if we kissed,
right here, right now?

under the pale, white,
fluorescent light
that burns brighter than sun.

in the brick-laden hallway
lined with red steel and
adolescent desperation.

what would you do?
would it be a surprise?
surely one as keenly clever as yourself
could see the words written across my mouth,
like a sultry red lipstick
lined on the lips of love.

it would be like the first flake of snow,
descending, dancing,
gently anxious to meet the earth
and melt away into nothing.

it would be like the smell of the sea,
a calling card,
at once striking and distracting,
with only a hint of salt.

most of all it would be fitting,
for a pair as wrong for each other as you and i
could never hope for more
than a moment shared in a corner,
hidden from the eyes of the world.

i'm not friends with that girl named Spontaneity.
her childishness and unpredictability
set me ill at ease.
And yet neither am i well acquainted with her cousin, Patience,
for her willingness to allow life to pass her by as she waits
strikes me as the greatest tragedy.
Carpe Diem, as they say.

these two girls, hand in hand,
keep me from that road less traveled.
Spontaneity whispers to me too often,
telling me what i should do in muted, excited tones.
Patience doesn't whisper enough,
making me discontented and churlish.
together, they create Delusion,
an ugly dog that barks and growls
and tries to corral me into a corner,
like a ewe into a pen.

i know it is Delusion that howls,
that scares me and snarls at me,
daring me to try to tame it and declare myself its master.
and it is Delusion that will eventually lead me into that silent spot
where cement meets brick
and hope meets reconciliation.

so, what if?
what's so wrong with creating
a little summer in a place where
so little light shines, and so little warmth exists?

tucked away in that corner,
like the striking and fizzling of a single match,
you and i can burn
and sear into memory what never has been.
written May 2019.

— The End —