Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mamta Wathare Feb 14
You
Like a threadbare rug
weaved in only the colour of moon
I carried you in my soul
long before
we met

Being with you
is like watching snowflakes
for the first time
Ice melts
warmth fills my soul
and a folk tune plays
in the universe
Delia Grace Jan 8
It is me
that is destined to
be spilled across
the muddy ground.
It can be
no one else’s pelt
that warms your foyer.

Did you hunt me yourself?
Or did you find me
as I left myself
take me in
and dub me your ****?
Tell yourself it counts,
an accidental shot.

Stretch your toes
on my back
as you sip your morning coffee.
Beat me in the garden
in the spring air.
Choke on the filth
I’ve collected.
12/15/19
Cydney Something Dec 2018
I collapsed the seats of my Rav4
You watched my *** the whole time
And saw an opportunity
As I bent over between the front seats
One, two, then three fingers
While fumbling to turn off the hazards
Biting a seat to keep quiet
Accidentally turned the music back on
"Stay In My Memory" by Bim
The song from Him
**** him, I'll ******* instead
The hazards were off
The music still on
Your fingers making my body quake
From the inside
Twice
Strong enough to throw me around
Like I was someone cuter and smaller
And put me on my back
With a hand around my throat
Kissing at me like a dog
Making me submit like a *****
Three, four, five
"On your knees"
And you threw me there, too
Six
Around we spun
Getting rug burn
Lost count of the quakes
They started to blend
With the aftershocks
"Are marks okay?"
And then you left one
A hickey on a weeknight
And a Monday, no less
Next time, we need a bed
Rug burn is a *****
enn Sep 2018
she,
in a simple nightgown
he,
in cotton pyjamas

nearing dusk,
as they laughed
while holding
the others hand

bare feet brushing
along the
soft bristles
of the rug

the radio
softly playing
a tune of
jazz

what a time
to be alive
Based on "Dance to This" by Troye Sivan and Ariana Grande.
Ambika Jois Sep 2018
The rug
Lying underneath your feet;
Been on the ground
So long,
It's stuck to the ground.

The fence
Standing deep, anchored in soil;
**** rooting down
So deep,
It's part of the land.

The frames are clean,
The pictures seem
Like history.
Once upon a time,
I was
More than furniture to us.

But now:

I want you to see me,
Like the door you can open;
I'm more than what's inside your home.

I want you to want me,
Like you used to everyday;
I'm that girl you wanted to make time for when you're alone.

Now, are you not alone?
Is that why
I'm the rug, fence and your furniture?

I know I work from home.
I know I got a lotta things to do.
I know I haven't lived up to the best of expectations.

I'm still that girl you fell in love with.
I dream beyond every bandwidth.
I take my time to really be sure.
I wanna do it without complications.

But I know,
I bore the hell outta you.
With my
Nagging that could turn ears blue.
But I
Promise that I love you baby,
You gotta see me in the light of the truth:

I want you to see me,
Like the door you can open;
I'm more than what's inside your home.

I want you to want me,
Like you used to everyday;
I'm that girl you wanted to make time for when you're alone.

Now, are you not alone?
Is that why
I'm the rug, fence and your furniture?
There are times when we are so much a part of other people's lives - married couples, live-in couples, friends, family, housemates, you name it - that we turn into their everyday lives in such an unnoticeable way. This poem is about what tends to happen when you get too used to having someone around.
Samreena Lodhi Sep 2018
There was a rain of tears with smiles,
and a breeze of warmth under a cold sky.
A fluffiest cloud running over the fences,
and a pair of plants sitting on the benches.
Birds walking down by river lanes,
and cats flying by the window panes.
A rhyming words out of the barking dog,
like a song sung by the beautiful rug.
Nothing special. i was just imagining my stupid thoughts and ended up with these words.
the last time
we
had *** i gave
you
rug burn on your back.

it stayed there for
some of the
months
to follow and remained
painful
as i broke your heart.

in the moment i felt
bad
about the red scabs that
protruded down the
outline of your
spine.

but looking back i'm
glad
i could give you a
reason
to think of me.

as horrid as it sounds i'm
glad
i could give you discomfort in your sleep,
just as months later
you
would do to me.

and though i wish you the
best
now, i hope that when you
wince as you sit
back in a seat you think of
me
and only
me.
Meghan Marie Oct 2015
Our love was a secondhand shop.
Faded and used,
you left me there,
decided you no longer wanted me.
I sit among the other used items
broken
and bruised.
Memories line the walls
and stock the shelves
of empty promises
and broken hearts.
Our secondhand love
is being sold at a discount price
with burn marks
and ripped holes.
You were just another girl
with clumsy hands
and missing pieces.
I slipped through your bony fingers
and you watched me fall
onto the dirt brown carpet.
I still have the rug burn to this day.
Your eyes
could burn holes through my skin
and melt me into the ground.
Our love was a secondhand shop
with memories burned into me.
vaishax May 2015
Early morning sunlight barges through the curtain holes
There is no hiding after
All the misgivings of last night and all nights before
Must disappear faster

Light is beckoning you unto itself
Tears must be swept under the rug
Light illuminates as is on rich and poor
Could it be your only wake up hug?

So grab her hand and walk into the light
Make her your own
Leave the banalities of this world behind
Don't miss, don't mourn
Next page