Shana Dukes Oct 2010
I wait longer and longer to hold a
singing family.
They let me go.
(Fire.)
They don't tell me about the show.
I'm another broken promise...
...like words can't hurt me.
Today is another broken promise...
Like a much craftier wordsmith
  will never hurt me.
Feeling disconnected from the world of songwriters and poets, I wrote this one.
Shana Dukes Oct 2010
I saw your head turned to stone.
You'd only been alive four days.
There is nothing like music for the dead
lovers who don't bother
to flatter me anymore.

I know that the ones who love me would not
waste breath on flattery.
I've been jailed for battery.

The road back to my house is made of
gravel.
The map is a scar on my kneecap.
One half of a bright red big wheel.

That is all I remember about the sky,
  as it works its way into my self conscious mind.
I had just broken up with someone, when I was passing a cemetary and saw his first name and the date he died...the date we broke up. It felt in the 99 degree heat as if I'd been walking on gravel the whole way.
Shana Dukes Oct 2010
I say,
Put the knife back in the drawer.
I say,
They will throw nice things out
eventually.
I say,
When they do that,
you will have everything.

Lately,
I have been wondreing
what would happen if I
stop looking through
the trash?
Maybe someone else could
redecorrate their living room.
Maybe I could get a living room,
then sit and write bad poetry.

Put the knife back in the drawer.
My arm hurts in the places where
I did not cut it.
I did  not cut it.
I did not cut it, (or so I felt), in the field of poetry. Maybe...maybe someone will prove me wrong.

— The End —