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C F Nov 2019
I truly do.

I admit
One-hundred and ten percent
I submit.

You are better.
Stronger.
Faster.

I am a mere counterfeit
On your behalf.

A piece he tried to shave down
Just to fit
The hole he cannot bereft.

I submit.

Please take him and leave.
Theres no need to convince.

I am a misfit.
Theres no need to requit.

I am so tired.
I just want to lay down
And rest.

So please.
I submit.
Please take him and go.
C F Sep 2019
I have come to realise that I am
One of those kind of people

The kind that are forever
In the background
Of everyone else's photos.
C F Mar 2019
I love you, he grins.
I love you too, she smiles.

Why do you love me?
He asks.
And she blinks.

She goes quiet,
carefully considering each phrase
churning them round in her head.

Not because of a sudden onslaught
of twirling adoration.
Or even a hint
of tumbling affection

Nor because of a pure
strangling sensation of warmth
in her chest.

She is quiet because,
there is nothing
where she knows
should be something.

She tilts her head, and smiles.
Words mean nothing to you, right?
He nods, confused.

Well, why do you love me?
She asks.

She is waiting for the rush
of softly uttered adoration.

She already knows
and here they come.

Words fall
from his fevered tongue
in great big drops.

And there they go,
in great big waves.
Seeping into her bones,

Quickly, with
a hammering.
Silence.

They smile at each other.
And turn off the bedroom lamp.

They will have good dreams tonight.
C F Mar 2019
There are so many
pieces of you,
sewn into me.

Stitch by stitch,
needle and thread.
I can't break away.

There are so many
pieces of you,
sewn into me.

I'll lie here,
on our bedspread.
Counting.

Stitch by stitch,
needle and thread.
You'll sew my limbs
into place.

You pull here or there,
tuck whats threadbare.

Tuck my foot under,
maybe I'll twitch.

I don't know how to
Separate what is me
and what was you.  

I'll never get away.

Because there are so many,
pieces of you,
sewn into me.

— The End —