I can't shake this feeling I did something wrong.
I keep messaging here and I don't know why,
Clearly you are ridding yourself of me.
You could have atleast told me I was crazy and you didn't want me.
Instead of this.
I waited for hours.
I called called called.
I fell asleep with blood shot eyes,
Trying to make time fly by.
I waited for days for you to read what I sent.
I stare at the little S, waiting for it to turn into a D.
Is that it?
I changed and became a ****** being,
Ridding myself of the innocent you wished I possessed.
I wish I did too.
Instead of this creature who lusts.
It has been days now and I still wait.
Feelings numb and I declare,
Don't treat God like a Genie,
He is a great man and powerful,
But he requires more attention than a Genie.
No three wishes when it comes to him.
No you make constant prays,
Not towards you but those who lay.
If you treat God like a Genie don't expect good credit,
No expect twisted words and a lonely bed.
I treated God like a Genie and this is got;
Abunt of men who got what he wanted,
A **** boy who isn't very taunt.
A man who I would have fallen in love.
So with this,
I plead a warning,
Don't ever treat God like a Genie
You're like candle light,
One moment you're there,
The next. Flicker.
We made plans on day one,
For a day of primal fun.
I was to regress,
In a brand new dress
You would take my hand,
Take me in more ways than none.
I dreamed of future days,
When I gave yout a title that didn't only mean play.
Where I would give myself to you in more than one way.
This were just dreams,
This weren't yet fantasy.
But now I am sure they never will be.
You changed me.
You changed my life, with the touch of your hand.
You were different, patient and sweet.
You're stutter always got to me.
The way your face crinkled when you were having troubles getting the words out,
The way your eyes sparkled.
Why did you comever into my life, become a forbidden fruit?
One bite and I was addicted,
Another and you were gone.
You made me feel whole, you made me feel.
I can't get over the way you smelt,
I can't get over the way you held me.
I am trying to replace,
But no one can replace,
Replace the way you were do accepting,
Replace the way you held me, cared for me.
No one will replace you,
and I can't get you out of my head.
Why? Why won't you go away.
Eighteen, a number rattled off a ticket,
Eighteen, the number of days I have left
Eighteen days to make a decision.
Eight plus one equals seven.
Seven, the year before my innocence was taken again.
Eight minus one equals six.
Six, the year of therapy for my traumaized mind.
Eighteen years in Eighteen days in Eighteen hours I have.
I have on a roster, I have in my head.
Oh dear one, will I be dead?
Fallen from the cradle the baby do fall.
She tumbled and cried and death was the end result.
I too am the baby never to grow up.
Eighteen days until my cradle will fall and I will cry.
When in life is this decision made?
Decision of the mind to place action to body?
Tumble bumble, falling little baby.
Eighteen days, the time I have left.
Eighteen years, a deadline I can't procrastinate.
Happy Birthday to me in Eighteen days.
I remember the day you told me your job.
I was over joyed at the fact that I can have pink grass,
A colour that represented me so perfectly.
I was a princess and that is the colour to represent me.
You laughed at the thought as I continued going on about glitter and lights in twined between each blade.
I smiled as I imaged you and your crew working on my yard and I lean against the house admiring the movement of the muscles on your back.
I remember the first time we called,
We had just met the day before as I was enthralled with your imagination and I wanted to play.
I was nervous but you didn't know.
I don't remember what we spoke, but I remember your laugh,
I remember the teasing and I remember your infatuation with my breast.
No, I wasn't offended.
I am a ***** and I appreciate the flattery,
Can you get in my pants?
Yes with a price of your daily attention.
It has been months since the mention of pink grass,
My grass welts now and dirt scatters my yard.
My skirt is pulled up and I stare at a screen,
How is your grass? How are your needs? How are you and me?
I never hear from you anymore and I come to my conclusion,
I will never get my pink grass.
A thought to a Sir.
Help is on the way, squeeze your lids and dream away.
Wish away the hours past, as realities minutes pass through the hourglass.
The sunlight fades in your mind, and inevitable gloom takes control.
Why is life treating me so, I can’t take this many blows.
Somebody take my hand and guide I, the blind.
It’s the only thing that can tame the feelings inside.