He took away my poetry
A gift to my tongue
A trait to my sanity now teaters in his glance.
One
Glancing blow from him and my world falls.
Balancing tightropes,
Circus acts draw elephants in my room.
He stole my words, thoughts
Now swell in my throat
Fill my mouth with grotesque vines that grow from my stomach.
He looks at her words like flowers that bloom from her heart.
Reaching to his looks
Sweet pollen on his fingers, I know.
I know.
Though he never returned the gift to me that was mine own,
Never my own anymore.
I look to my vines with hate.
My own song now become tightropes
So that you may decide to walk over me again.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
He took away my poetry
A gift to my tongue
A trait to my sanity now teaters in his glance.
One
Glancing blow from him and my world falls.
Balancing tightropes,
Circus acts draw elephants in my room.
He stole my words, thoughts
Now swell in my throat
Fill my mouth with grotesque vines that grow from my stomach.
He looks at her words like flowers that bloom from her heart.
Reaching to his looks
Sweet pollen on his fingers, I know.
I know.
Though he never returned the gift to me that was mine own,
Never my own anymore.
I look to my vines with hate.
My own song now become tightropes
So that you may decide to walk over me again.
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