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elsbeth-poePoems
How best to confess My love to somebody When love Tastes so foreign on my tongue I've been swallowing my feelings Words caught in my esophegus With a burning in my chest From staying blocked for so long After years being trapped With a bully for a brain Continually kicking that selfsame *** Instead of standing up to and for me Filling up on negativity Cooking up a whole buffet A refrigerator full For a glutton for punishment Binging when life began feeling too easy … I'm going on a diet Self hate It got me all sorts of out of shape Wheezing while my heart is squeezing Air masks dropping from above Remind me of that thing Inhaling Scrambling hands How did I become so blue I've got to be able to breathe To help you to do it too And you can call me a hog But it's the same with love How could I be so blind When there are mirrors in your eyes This confession's first meant for me. And ******* it I'm taking the time Giving me a grateful minute to gather myself Arms filling up with bushels I can secondhand over to you. E.Poe July 2014
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Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Hungry Heart
How best to confess My love to somebody When love Tastes so foreign on my tongue I've been swallowing my feelings Words caught in my esophegus With a burning in my chest From staying blocked for so long After years being trapped With a bully for a brain Continually kicking that selfsame *** Instead of standing up to and for me Filling up on negativity Cooking up a whole buffet A refrigerator full For a glutton for punishment Binging when life began feeling too easy … I'm going on a diet Self hate It got me all sorts of out of shape Wheezing while my heart is squeezing Air masks dropping from above Remind me of that thing Inhaling Scrambling hands How did I become so blue I've got to be able to breathe To help you to do it too And you can call me a hog But it's the same with love How could I be so blind When there are mirrors in your eyes This confession's first meant for me. And ******* it I'm taking the time Giving me a grateful minute to gather myself Arms filling up with bushels I can secondhand over to you. E.Poe July 2014
elsbeth-poe
Written by
elsbeth-poe
American
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
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