she’s a dancer
he’s a poet
she’s a lover
he’s a taker
she’s a professional
he’s a beginner
she’s passionate.
he fell in love
with money love.

she brings in thousands
he takes home a few dollars.
he loves a girl who only cares about love.
he cares about the money.
he’s a money lover.
she’s a real lover.
he’s using her
she’s unaware.

fragile is what i used to call myself.
i wasn’t to be played rough with.
my feelings and emotions
were too fragile for negativity.
the boys would tackle each other,
and i would watch them, not daring to join.
“Regan, you should play!”
“I’m too fragile to tackle.”

now i’ve noticed how tough i actually am.
my heart has been broken.
i’ve been called terrible things.
sometimes i wish i could punch something.
i’m not fragile, i’m strong.

I...am...NOT...fragile.

i knew a boy with brown hair
like flowing locks of a mare.
we talked and talked
i was the one he stalked.
we grew close
until we both became morose.
he changed his hair to black
and let my feelings crack.
he stole my joy,
and i let a boy
change me so much
by just a simple touch.
naive is what i was
and that is ‘cause
he changed
and deranged.
I was left alone
i even tried calling his phone,
but nothing would work.
he passed my gloomy face with a smirk.
now i know
to keep my feelings low
so a black haired boy
will not turn me into a toy.

who am i?
what am i going to spend my finite life?
what is going on!
what’s going to happen in 4, 30, or 50 years?

Cobalt, periwinkle, turquoise, baby.
Name a color and I have been it.
Some days it’s more pastel,
others’ it’s midnight.