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Roman Four Feb 2021
She told me I was perfect.
I fell instantaneously.
So tell me why did I hesitate,
every time
she told me
she
loved
me.
Roman Four Feb 2021
I shall not bend
I shall not fold
I mustn't give under the gaze
of their watch.
For in my eyes this is weak.
however.
It is okay if I fall and crack,
It is okay if I break and snap.
Yet these orbed windows of my soul,
I mustn't let flood.
I may shake and tremble,
in anguish,
in frustration,
but this dam of my lids
shall not break.
Am I really so pathetic that I can barely hold my tears? It makes me feel so weak to cry in front of others. But who am I to perceive myself from the outside.
Roman Four Nov 2021
Wrapped in pretty glitters and gold
I placed it in his hands
It was an effortless gift

I smiled and stood back to admire
love bloom from the inviting fire
Of red hot desire which burned off his eyes.

He handed me one as well
extravagantly decorated
much more than my own.

Such thought!
Surely it must be as great as he says!
Wrapped in such lovely word decorated paper.

I looked up to see him smiling back.
"Do you like it?"
he asks.

My answer is automatic.
Anything that comes from such grand gestures
surely must be just as pleasantly pleasing.

Excited and enthralled
I ripped it open
only for my hands to stall.

Empty.
A gift was expected,
was it not?

I looked up to see him smiling down.
his gift opened before him.
I stare in horror

"How naïve."
He states.
"You should have known,

Men like me don't do gifting.
Rather we enjoy destroying what we're given
and revel in your disappointment."

Why had I been the only one
Who's gift was not empty,
full of lies and deceit.

I should've know that fire is contagious
It cannot be contained
and you can't stop it from burning.

I could only watch as he lit my gift on fire.
Burning my trust to ashes,
and laughing at my broken sobs.

Now when I stay out of gifting.
Too afraid of another gift turned to ashes,
and empty wrappings with pretty words in gold.
cant believe i put so much trust into one person and at the end he decided to destroy my trust to ashes.
Roman Four Feb 2021
They fed their mind with black and white,
Monotone and the same.
Forbidding gay reds and blues,
greens and yellows,
and all the bountiful colors.
To them,
Love is simple.
As predictable as day and night.
To them,
Love is complex.
As divided as the colors on a prism.
Love is creatively more complex and colorful than the simple ways we see in popular media. Society's has spoon fed to us through social platform's unrealistic expectations of romance.
Roman Four Mar 2021
I stare into my reflection,
peering into the soul
of which only can be seen
In blue mirrors and media screens.
The empty personality stares,
looking back at me.
A created caricature,
Blankly examining its unaltered true form.
The glass,
A line between worlds
where truth is filtered and blurred.
Altered.
Bearing no semblance,
No longer me.
That creature that sits
Behind it on the other side,
a guise that I cannot recognize.
It is I
Who created this character
for all else to examine.
To lock away
Unmasked, misshapen
Scrutinized pieces of myself.
The person in the mirror,
they know nothing of how to live,
Sitting unknowing of the world.
A stranger to grievances and struggle,
friend to glass and screens.
I've created a character for all to view.
But when I go to admire,
I no longer see myself.
Blank eyes stare back,
My reflection stares at me.
Haven't we all caved to show the world a made up versions of ourselves? We see what we want to see in the mirror in order to make ourselves feel better. We alter our photos before posting them on social media. Our made up lives and personas bear no resemblance of who we truly are in the flesh.
Roman Four Feb 2021
She is a puppet.
She was her own puppeteer.
But her strings,
harshly wrestled from her,
until she is wholly compliant.
Society laughs,
as she dances their string pulling dance.
Her movement not her own,
a dance against her own accord.
Aren't we all victims to the same foolish dance? A dance at which we laugh at others as they fall for the same trick, but yet we cannot escape ourselves?

— The End —