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Lillian May Jul 2018
new
unknown
change
it makes me retract
retrogress
pull away
quickly, urgently, full of fear
like a burnt hand from a flame
my daddy always said
"The burnt hand teaches best"
words I live by too
but my momma tells me not to be afraid
tells me not to let fear rule me
caution will always be the enemy of life
life with meaning anyway
but I don't know how to change my mind
because it went from eager, quixotic thoughts
to fear and what we'd almost call disgust
in a moment my brain derailed my train of thought
changed it's course
and I keep asking the conductor what's wrong, what happened
why my feelings changed, fleeted so fast
he just shrugs apathetically
we're all confused here
my heart is so pathetically delicate I think
so easily frightened
reminiscent of a fawn I imagine in my mind
and it frustrates me
mostly because I didn't used to be like this
and I don't know how to change it back
and it's my own? so why I can't seem to figure out my own inner workings is perplexing
and disgruntling
I guess the best way to describe my mind right now
would be
a confusing, fiery train wreck
just like this poem
*conductor shrugs and so do I*
Lillian May Aug 2018
a
funny
fluttering
feeling
in
my
                heart
beats
skipping
and
dancing
and
jumping
                around
I look
and
wonder
where
you've
been
               all my life
I hope one day this will belong to someone
Lillian May May 2018
I miss the me I was as a child
carefree, joyful, worry-less, and wild
barefoot in grass and everything new
a world so exciting
I was guided through.
I miss the child in all of us.

I miss the me I was in adolescence
against the idea of acquiescence
standing tall and finding myself
a world so frightening
but being confident as well.
I miss when from life we'd all rebel.

I miss the me I have not yet been
lying ahead, in wait, with a grin
for the me then will laugh, raise a brow,
and miss the me that I am now.
Lillian May Sep 2019
There was a silence.
                 Oh, if he would only be hers entirely;
       not by poor surreptitious evasion but in fulness and in fact.
He had understood her pause.
                "I'm good."  she said with apparent carelessness.
She found it difficult to keep her voice just on the casual note she wanted.
he thought to himself: she's different from me, she's romantic.
                "You just don't trust yourself with me around." he said.
                "It seems a bit funny, we both always knew, but honest I hadn't realized you were beautiful."
                "You're a great kidder."
Oh God, she asked herself, have I handled this right?
leaning on the door jam his body in perfect chiaroscuro
and an omniscient grin
And the rest is history.
...
Lillian May Feb 2019
I recognize my reflection and respect my shadow.
The she I was being only a season or so ago.
A she I prayed I wouldn’t see, and a she I begged to leave.
Air in her ears and sand in her eyes,
Rocks for feet, but still crying out those “why?”s
Wrongly thinking she was anything more than stubborn,
Searching for direction outside the map she’d torn.
Repeating the mantra of denial and lies,
Believeing she was too weak to fight.
Slowly she left me.
Deciding her baggage to be too hefty, she fell away.
And now I'm left free and light,
enjoying the day as I respect the night.
I can dance without the demons on my back,
I've come to peace with the things that I lack.
Lillian May Dec 2019
Dear T,

You always used to tell me you were the devil, that you were heartless,
And I’d always chuckle, say “No you’re not!” And kiss your cheek.
And the truth is I really didn’t believe you, and I never saw you like that.
I think I truly did see all of you, but I focused on the good, and I thought you appreciated, and maybe even loved, that about me.
But maybe I was wrong because, hah, well I broke up with you, I thought amicably enough.
I had closure, I recognized that maybe we just weren’t right or good for each other.
But for whatever reason you felt the need to start **** up again. You knew exactly what to say, what to do, how to act, and I was yours yet again. For some reason you were my achilles heal, and I’ll be ****** if you didn’t know it. I loved you so ******* much. And I truly wanted to believe the best, I fought everyone off, including myself, who thought your intentions were questionable. You knew I would. You knew.
And I hate that you were right. I hate that I said yes when you asked to paint, I hate that when you asked me over I came, I hate that when you said  you needed me I believed you. Maybe you did need me, but you certainly don’t care enough to love me the way I loved you.

I hate it all. And though I’m trying not to, I hate you. I just don’t understand WHY you wouldn’t just stay the **** away from me. Why did you have to tell me all the things you did, made me feel like the most important person in the world, and then toss me away when I was inconvenient for you.
If you were lonely, why not find someone else?
If you didn’t know what you wanted with me, why didn’t you just wait till you did know?
Why did you have to drag me along when you KNEW I would hold on?
Other than the fact that you’re a selfish *****.

I understand you were leaving, that you couldn’t make any promises, maybe that you were confused. But you are the kind of person who can see 4 steps ahead and predict outcomes, so you can’t say that you didn’t know how I would act.
You’ve called me predictable so you can’t say you didn’t know. So all I can wonder is why. What good reason could you possibly have had to yank me around like that, and take advantage of how much I cared about you?
Do you just hate me so much that you didn’t care what would happen if you hurt me?
Was it just simple apathy?
Were you bored?
You can’t say you didn’t think because we both know that’s impossible for you. You always have a move, a goal.
So what was it?

I guess thats all I have to say.
I hate you, I’m trying not to, but right now I do.
And I truly do not understand why you came back. I don’t understand your goal.
Maybe you truly were just bored and are, in fact, heartless. Maybe everything you said about caring about me was a lie, maybe you just wanted to mess around with someone and have decent memories. But why the **** did it have to be me?
*******.
not really a poem. Just a letter. sorry this doesn't rhyme, isn't really even all that pretty. just a collection of thoughts
Lillian May May 2019
I saw a young man working in a Kroger a few a-little-while's ago.
He was putting bananas in the designated banana display,
and as I passed he smiled to me,
In such a kind, purely, beautifully,
human
manner. And I smiled back,
as one does,
matching his sincerity I hoped, or what I perceived as sincerity
and anyway he spoke.
Saying hello and inquiring if I was well and I responded that I was and returned the question.
To which he looks around at his current state; being surrounded by a staggering amount of bananas and shrugs and says "having a blast". Which I find humorous,
as one does.
I laugh and he laughs and I continue shopping. I weave through the isles leisurely because it's past 11pm in a small town Kroger and I wasn't quite ready to leave for whatever reason.
And
I see the pleasant blonde banana Kroger worker get up and proceed to dance to 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot" in a tall uncoordinated jig, singing into a banana which sounds too story-book to be true but alas.
And
I remember tilting my head involuntarily as a look of curious fondness swept my face.
And
and I love human moments like this because they're still and unchangingly pleasant, full of what if scenarios for late night can't-sleep thinking.
I left.

Well around Easter time,
or
well actually precisely on Easter, in the afternoon time I stand checking out my groceries in the self-scanner
as one does
and I see this fascinating young man
yet again,
this time clad in a bunny ears headband, which I find endearing. And I stare a little longer than I probably should have, more than likely wearing a complexly fond expression
yet again.
He meets my dreamy gaze and
surprisingly hold the eye contact for a moment longer than I would normally grant strangers. As we were on our way out he said goodbye to my group.
And, once again, I left.
Left wondering what would have happened if I went up to bunny banana boy and exchanged pleasantries and names
Left wondering if the goodbye was directed to me or everyone
Left wondering if I should shop at Kroger more.
Lillian May Dec 2019
imagine:

sitting on A stool on a stage
Small and creaky
aroma of coffee and maybe a cigar and sweet casualty in the air
imagine singing your mother’s favorite song to remember her softly
then Coming off stage
(greeted by your love poking your side so laughably irritating)
to sip a now tepid coffee, made by someone who knows your name
as you watch a neighbor go sit on the same stool
singing a song Of funny nostalgia that tickles the sides of your heart
reminding the room of our collective Age
with a chuckle and a smirk exchanged
and recounting the beautiful memories of lives lived in adjacency to one another
that makes up such a quaint Story

imagine that.
Lillian May May 2018
He loves me
a love deeper than anything
a love I can't fully reciprocate
which is a strange feeling
because I'm used to
loving more
loving deeper
loving with everything
and to think
that He
loves me more than I can comprehend?
that is a strange feeling.
to be loved like that
The "He" I am referring to is my God, and savior, Jesus Christ. He has been there for me fully, completely, unwaveringly, when everyone else wasn't, or couldn't be. He is good, He is kind, He is loving. He is everything that I am. He has made me. And I love my God. But never as much as He loves me. Praise Jesus.
Lillian May May 2018
Be gentle with us.
please.
or not
it's your call
but keep in mind that we as poets
we feel too strong
which is not to say that that is wrong
we don't ease into love, we quickly fall
we love like we're dying
we live like we're small
but in our minds.
in our minds we are flying

we feel everything at once
you wouldn't think it by looking
looking at our normal fronts
a disguise, a charade
but prey don't believe a masquerade
a poet can be but anyone
existing silently
a poet can be but everyone
existing violently
we all make up stories
we're all acting to a degree
so things aren't so different
no not so different you and me

we notice the quirks
we notice the nothings
if you meet a poet then you should believe
you should know that we
we love what we see
and appreciate all forms of beauty
for to us imperfect is lovely
perfect doesn't exist
we have those markings on our wrist
of all the awful places we've been to we kissed
we've kissed the devil when we went
to hell and back again

so now that you have been informed
that a poets heart is easily scorned
knowing we feel deeply
knowing we feel more
more than we really should I've warned
we don't just love a person when we fall
we love their whole world
we love it all
and when we're hurt it is hard to trust
and thus
please.
Be gentle with us.
Lillian May Feb 2019
I'm not one for Valentine's Day.
Love wrapped up and packaged into superficial nothingness
The meaning, the weight and beauty of love, made less,
stripped away and replaced with balloons and chocolates.
No
If you love someone you tell them
every
day.
Tell them with the way you look at them,
with the way you touch them,
buy her flowers because its Tuesday
dress up for him because you wanna take his breath away
all
over
again
falling in love is a whirlwind of involuntary passion
staying in love is an action
showing love is a responsibility, a choice
don't dull the song of love's voice because it shouldn't be loudest but one day a year
No
interlock your fingers and breathe each other in
not for a holiday, do it for the grin, that blooms on her face more lovely than any roses in a vase OH dear
No.
Love is not just once a year.
I love you everyday of the year.
Lillian May Jun 2018
a walk of cobble
the sky blue and sunbeams
draping over the scene
through leaves and branches gleam
walls of pure history
the plainest street a dream
class dancing about
thinking thoughts without
a hint of a doubt
that this place would be worthy of a story
in all of its glory
and on the page i'd pour me
and everything i am and everything
that i saw
that i felt
that i touched and smelt
holding and grasping
and clutching and clasping
onto any sensation i could get my hands on
hoping for a memory to last
so i could look onto the past
and remember it clearly
remember it dearly
forget all my worries
and the tears on my face
and my blues
and instead think of all my stories
and the places i've been and this place
well
that's where i got my brown leather shoes
A couple years ago I went to mesmerizing Sicily, and this is just a small anecdote from that sunny Sicilian day.
Lillian May Jun 2020
"True love"
like True North
points you in the right direction
Lillian May Aug 2019
Bursting at the seams
with want to paint the exact of my scene
and words so full of my very being but
Oh, knowing the audience all too aptly
Is enough to hesitate me
Lillian May Jan 2020
classical pianist,
she's starry-eyed like Starry Night
she's got the aura of oil paints
hands like brushwork
swirling and swishing
eyebrows that twitch with every note
the room lowers by the decibels as she breathes
her heart in perfect pentameter with song
like silk running up along a staircase
sound floating thick and rich
daydreaming
the sounds of purgatory between sleep and awareness
no attention to time or reality
she slips away
oh, that classical pianist.

-LMN
Lillian May Feb 2020
quiet down now, 'cloud whisperer',
don't you know these fits fade fast
don't you know these delusions of power simply will not last?
the sky does as she pleases
the sun shines as he may
all the pleading,
all the crying,
won't matter anyway.

sorry to say, 'cloud whisperer',
you know your magic isn't real
you know that all that's come and gone will do so as it feels.
the here and now will slip away,
and tomorrow's coming quick
all the wishing,
all the whining,
won't change all life's fun twists.

so quit your rain dance,
put down your spells,
and stop your silly chants.
take a breath and feel the drops,
learn to love this cruel romance.
Lillian May Jun 2018
It simply struck me
so delightful to
see someone
smile.
~
It is
morbid
these fits of joy
they don't last long
Lillian May Jun 2018
Daisy
was a curious
     mind,




                     She     imagined
                           years of delightful excitement
                                       unexpected carelessness
        she was a creature of surprising energy
I wrote this and it ended up reminding me of a friend. So now I call her Daisy :)
Lillian May Jun 2018
I like the days when the sun sings and the trees sway to the song
I like the days when the clouds laugh and the wind carries the sound
I like the days when the rain is crisp and makes you feel alive
I like the days when the storms come down and we laugh anyway
I like the days when the lightning makes porch lights seem small
I like the days when life falls away
and falls in place
even just for a moment
and the only thoughts thought
were of the days
that I like
some happy thoughts
Lillian May Jun 2018
the amazing thing was that
he once
was crazy about you
in love as in early summer.
which every time you snap it into flame
observe little flocks of drifting evenings.
he of the strollers,
issuing the familiar cry
of hope
to me
life comes and shows itself.
Lillian May Dec 2019
Electric hands on my waist and hips
From behind me you rest your chin on my shoulder and I wish you’d stay there, every piece of you, in perfect shape and scene.
Closing my eyes as if it'd actually freeze time,
but alas the world turned
and that movement of earth which I most never feel
this time ****** me so harshly
out of this painted picture I found myself in
Lillian May Jan 2021
flickers and flashes
my memory of this year
this tiny little lifetime.

forever lives in those flickers and flashes
so long have i known you in this time so brief

we've walked and we've danced and fallen
you and i and our tiny little lifetime
and many more to come

i love you.
Lillian May Nov 2019
youre my photographer
and im your hepburn(or at some point in a brief glimpse to me we were these) but my face is a little funnier
and neither of us can waltz and
really we aren't even in love like them but
i do however love the sun and the rain in her (hepburn's") old Hollywood voice!
her voice was so picture perfect in that way
and I kind of want to be in love with you (minus the river and that drift wood dancing cause neither of us can dance much less to your ****** gangster rap and definitely not on driftwood) but I also think that being in love with you would be a surprising amount like waltzing to rap music on driftwood on a river
but if there's a world where hepburn has a 'funny face' then who knows maybe we could find a rhythm
or maybe we'd just get very soaked in river water
Lillian May Jul 2018
a wish
a whisper
the breath of a kiss
the way the word alone
slips off the lips
Lillian May Jul 2018
whilst the plants during winter wait
they wait for warmth and springtime rain
whilst they do so,
the ground welcomes the quiet snow:
if they, so I.
the snow embraces the ground and trees
singing soft and enamoring melodies
the trees do not fret or cry spitefully,
but instead appreciate the cold beauty:
if they, so I.
there is pain in the wait, but joy as well
a chest for two reasons could easily swell
with anger or laughter and it is a choice,
we the tuners the tone of our voice:
if they, so I.
what does that mean?
why love the snow that hides summer's green?
why must we wait to enjoy the sun?
so I say, the flowers still bloom when their time come:
if they, so I.
Lillian May Sep 2019
By your presence I am bound.
it must be a great satisfaction to always know,
I am faithfully yours.
I, held open to you, as a book you could read when convenient
light skimming and waiting room sitting.
but I, being never your favorite novel,
was stuck back on the shelf full of "I'll finish it later"'s,
whilst I've written chapter upon chapter on you.
Well chapters are meant to end and books are meant to be read
                                                    Right?
I'll read my own book then
Lillian May May 2019
I'm torn (apart)
between
loving the big blue and green eyes that go on for miles when I look into them and the way you look at me with them in all their different flavors like curiosity and soft fondness and fire-like intensity and the way you smile with your one dimple and the way that smile tastes when you pull me in with your strong arms that I know won't let me go because under your breath you say 'mine' as you squeeze me tighter and the feeling of that breath on my skin as we sink deeper into a state of cloudy hysteria and everything in the world feels perfectly in tune as my head is on your chest and your heartbeat is the pentameter of it all.
im torn between that and
this old feeling of dread that as soon as you slip away from me I won't see you or hear your voice and yet you'll be trapped in my thoughts like a favorite song and no matter how hard I try I can't help but feeling like the tune is off somehow and I've forgotten some words but I can't think of which ones but the worst part is I feel like all this noise in my head won't be mirrored in yours and you won't hear the tune or appreciate the melody.

im torn (apart)
between
this harmony of yin and yang and you give me a head and I give you a heart and how you say "id be a cold-hearted sonofabitch without you" and when I ask if you're proud of me you say "Its rare that im not proud of you" and when I cry you look into my eyes like a blanket on an oil fire calming me down and reminding me where the ground is and you hold my hand when I'm scared and tell me "fear means youre growing, when its over you'll be glad you did it" and you push me to be bold and when you smile and tell me I slow the world down for you and that you like when I stroke your hair because you feel safe for once and how we even each other out softening rigid edges and sharpening dull blades
im torn between that and
knowing that when the harmony is askew we duel with those swords but not with each other, with our respective selves and I start wishing I wasn't too much and you beat yourself up for thinking you aren't enough and the air fills with a solid stench of resentment and confusion and im grasping frantically for answers and bandages as we both sit on the floor hemorrhaging.

I'm.
torn (apart).
between
loving you and knowing there are so many beautiful ways we're good for each other
torn between that and
wondering if that's enough to make up for the ways that we ruin the other.
and then I ask "what is love without ruin?" and "love is enough right?"
but im just
torn apart
Lillian May Feb 2019
when we're so close that our lungs share air
our lips touch and we sink
down into a rhythm
perfectly in time that pentameters weep
Lillian May May 2019
fuzzy fretful fantasy fog
Trespassing into my thoughts so loudly
I can hardly hear you say:
“I don’t love you”
Lillian May Jun 2018
most visitors
                   usually imagine her
as a            stranger

       Just the same, she looks. But surely
                                                     Leonardo da Vinci
would have understood her.
                             Leonardo would have relished,
                    

                                     And

                                                  remembered
Lillian May Jan 2020
love, you are
so softly unbelievable.
you are so gently terrifying
and beautifully real
youre a dream in reality's clothing
with smoky eyes
and warm hands that fit mine
love, you are
such sweet silly hysteria.
chain-smoking laughter
and kissing right after
youre a tickle at the ribs
with an inside joke
and the curve of laughing lips
love, you are
porch lights through closed eyes
melodies of jazz and soft sighs
slow dancing in old jeans
making poor decisions,
and neglecting routines.
oh, love,
you are the stuff of dreams.
Lillian May Feb 2019
The
          sometimes
          tremulous
glimpses of surprise,
I think
     what a book it would make.

I hear the late afternoon cheer
         the honest type
somewhere                                                          
                  lurking behind
                                old Sixth Avenue Road.
I suppose
it is not just a phenomenon of nature that goes instinctively on,
not the appalling detail of any large human scheme, eroded by schedules
But I accept it as one of the miracles.
(Which I never see anywhere else)
Lillian May Nov 2019
poems are a bit harder to write
when you dont feel music in your mind

too many tabs open

tv static for feelings

'error 404' for thoughts

poems are a bit harder to create
when you cant keep your sh*t straight
Lillian May Aug 2019
New flash.
Just because you are hurt now
In this moment
Does not mean
you can diminish the meaning or the reality
Of a love
A bond
A heart
A time
That’s shared.
Just because it’s broken now
Does not mean it always was.
Appreciate your past. It’s not bad simply because you’re sad now. It was once good, and you should appreciate that.
Lillian May May 2018
the air is cold
the sky is dark
and im on a roof.
i look out and see the city lights
steady and stable
shining with human determination
and inovation
and the silhouette of bleakness
that is hushed from our lips
and i think
"there is nothing more beautiful than this..."

the air is clear
the sky is pure black
and im in a field.
i look up and see the stars
distant and free
glimmering with higher meaning
and beauty
and the quiet sound of our oblivion
for the city now seems small
and i think
"there is nothing more beautiful than this..."
Lillian May Apr 2019
History was destroyed and made all at once today.
Notre Dame in bright, brilliant flames.
850 years of history, class trips, memories,
singed and gone.
Everything has it's time, I suppose.
But I had a friend who wanted to meet that building,
who wanted to soak in it's secrets and stories.
And now that dream is ashy and unattainable.
Spectacular spire, it fell.
And with it, our hearts.
Lillian May Dec 2020
Soft and familiar sorrow
but narrated, by me, this time in the third person.
I, the narrator, in this case, feeling by proxy
the sorrow that my love feels now.
A loss he wasn't ready for,
has never endured before,
he cries, and then so I.

And yet there is love.

( Isn't that life?
At the end of every story of sorrow, you
could punctuate with that and it'd be true. )

Oh, how he handles these things, so much love
so much grace.
Even as sadness rolls down his face,
his mind still fixed on things above
Lillian May Feb 2019
once again you were my stars
every time i saw you i was filled with new wonder
i could stare at you for hours and never be bored
i've written poems about stars before

and once again i was just
well what was i?
what clever metaphor is there for nothing?

i suppose to you i was like a comet.
beautiful, awe-inspiring for a moment.
you couldn't get enough of the sight of me
and then gone from your gaze.

but really im the stars
you just closed your eyes.
Lillian May Jul 2018
too strong she was.
sitting
dizzily on the edge.
Do not disturb the disheveled lady,
made cynical, tottering on the ledge.
"I can't manage tonight."
said poor miss polite and reasonable.
Lillian May Jan 10
Show me your face and I know what love looks like

Touch me and I know what love feels like

Speak to me and I know what love sounds like

Kiss me and I know what love tastes like

It wells up inside me

Pouring from my chest through my eyes and down my cheeks

Trace it with your fingers a moment
Paint on me the very feeling and thought of the moment

Then kiss me a moment too long
Salty tongues and warm cheeks
And sink down into something a little too strong

I know, for because of you, what love is

You are it and
You are mine and
Who am I that I’ve been given this?
Lillian May Jun 2018
you can tell a lot about someone from their shoes

the well kept,
shiny,
new looking dress shoes.

the unkempt,
raggedy,
hand-me-down tennis shoes.

the classy,
black,
high-heeled stilettos.

the scuffed,
well loved,
well worn work boots.

you pictured a person in each pair didn't you?
isn't it amazing
that given only shoes
we can create a character.
random thoughts.
Lillian May Mar 2019
Living from day to day by opening cold every morning;
The comedian, in no mood for leisurely reminiscence
how ironic
Lillian May May 2018
constantly caught
in contradiction
the want
to take in everything
and never close my eyes
and the longing
to keep them shut forever

i guess it's the affection
for two respective distractions
one conscious
the other not
i wish for silence as i wish for anything;
a sliver of hope
and a hefty helping of pessimistic realism

distraction from what? they ask
oh i don't know
but if i were to ponder a guess
id say mere existence
id suppose, perhaps,
a distraction from everything in me
everything in my mind
which is me in essence
what is a person without mind?
an entity of nothingness
molecules clumped together haphazardly
and meaninglessly
~
a late, sleepless night's worth of thoughts for your reading pleasure... or displeasure. that part is up to you. nevertheless here it is
Lillian May Jan 2020
it snows and with it comes the quiet
quiet little town gets even quieter and snow, see
it's like a warm hand clasping mine in the middle of a deep
sobbing cry
sits down and soothes with a whisper
and a misty breath that shushes till the fit fades
snow softens the blow of reality
and as it freezes the tips of noses it does so with time
Lillian May Apr 2019
I am,
nobody’s something.
Nothing special, and yet to know if I’ll remain so. I play an extra in everyone else’s movie. There’s brighter and more beautiful. A more catching story, a slyer smile.
I am,
anybody’s nothing.
They pick me up and consider me for a moment, scrutinizing my rosy eyes and cloudy head, then deciding I’m simply not for them, and set me back down.
I am,
Somebody’s anything.
Sometimes I catch a second glance, a look of possibility and care. I’m taken and toyed with, told I give tunnel vision. But only for my storefront view. As soon as the buyers remorse kicks in I’m blamed for my own heartache.
So what am I?
I’m a cloud in the fog.
A tear in a rainstorm.
A flashlight next to the sun.
I’m there. Here.
Just not significantly existing in a way that makes me
Somebody’s something.
Lillian May Jun 2018
Perhaps it was
'!~his mind~!'
with alert curiosity
(shall we call it doubt?)
that told him
'you must go to your God'
chapter name inspired by "Human Being" by Christopher Morley
Only
Lonely
Little town
Little lady
Little bit of shame
Lot a bit of longing
Big fear
Bigger desire
Lost a while
Found even more
In the mountains
On the road
Sorta stupid
Sorta smart
Young mind
Old heart
Contradictions
Commonalities
It’s all a little silly
Life
The world
So much more
Than I thought it would be
Lillian May May 2018
slowly
he plagued her thoughts less and less
the painful process
of recovery
of finding her breath again
from a love that made her feel less than she was
her thoughts of him
fewer and farther between with every sun
became muted
irrelevant to her life
sore still
and a little bit achy
but standing up
with shaky legs
and a healing heart
falling in love with herself
and her God
even more
Lillian May May 2019
I wish you knew
How much it hurts when you
Address me in such a casual hue

I choke and a writhe and I cry
There in my mind
But outside I’m doing just fine

I wish you missed my touch
Even a fraction as much
As I feel that you’re my crutch

I guess that I’ll have to learn
That it’s pointless for me to yearn
For someone I cannot earn

And I could go on how long who knows
About how very little care you’ve shown
And how very little it seems you’ve grown.
What a ****.
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