I reiterate my right to a slow repair.
As disregard can leave footprints in someone's sole.
As they step on flowers that they had once planted.
Like
Telling someone
That you know
is insecure.
After making a promice.
Maybe a misplaced promice
And telling them
"If you have to make a deal to get ***
Your not going to get much in life
are you"
"I guess your right"
I silent whisper
repeats and repeats.
Like a wicked mantra.
Seeded by some demon or devil
Dripping with in a smouldering disdain
It circles and circles
Like dogs around a wounded victim
This might not be the saddest story ever told
But its a momoent of consequence
That shaped me
In a little way
That was not good
Because somethings
Do Matter.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 11:53 PM UTC
I reiterate my right to a slow repair.
As disregard can leave footprints in someone's sole.
As they step on flowers that they had once planted.
Like
Telling someone
That you know
is insecure.
After making a promice.
Maybe a misplaced promice
And telling them
"If you have to make a deal to get ***
Your not going to get much in life
are you"
"I guess your right"
I silent whisper
repeats and repeats.
Like a wicked mantra.
Seeded by some demon or devil
Dripping with in a smouldering disdain
It circles and circles
Like dogs around a wounded victim
This might not be the saddest story ever told
But its a momoent of consequence
That shaped me
In a little way
That was not good
Because somethings
Do Matter.
Just a little poem about everyday trauma