"affter" poems - Hello Poetry

Loving you was like eating green grapes. Pushing, pushing, then pop through the skin. Tasting the sweet success Letting it flood my mouth Only making me want more. But green grapes are sour at their peak of ripeness, at their most beautiful. The sour sting in my jaw is what it feels like after your sweetness was gone, Affter I couldn't think about you without wondering if maybe that thick skin was thick for a reason. That maybe green grapes should come with a warning label.

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Jun 6, 2015

Jun 6, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC

aeryn-mcmurtry

Grapes

Loving you was like eating green grapes. Pushing, pushing, then pop through the skin. Tasting the sweet success Letting it flood my mouth Only making me want more. But green grapes are sour at their peak of ripeness, at their most beautiful. The sour sting in my jaw is what it feels like after your sweetness was gone, Affter I couldn't think about you without wondering if maybe that thick skin was thick for a reason. That maybe green grapes should come with a warning label.

9

You play three. Me, seven. Fifteen for two. This is where I lose you. Your phone vibrates, You leviate Sitting across from me, Making me an unwilling audience To all the drama. You vibrate. Your shoulders droop Like the gape-toothed village idiot. You gesticulate, Fading in and out In a semi-conscious awakening. You're trembling under stones Sitting on your chest. It shows in your tembling hands. *Twenty, for two... Twenty-five, for six...* I overhear your child is truant, Another wants a ride, Another a car, doctor or lawyer. You're shuffling in your seat. Not to worry. Affter the stones are lifted, And you're properly pegged In the stink hole, the game's over. Thirty, for twelve and a go. Game. So deal with it.

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Aug 2, 2014

Aug 2, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC

francie-lynch

Crib

You play three. Me, seven. Fifteen for two. This is where I lose you. Your phone vibrates, You leviate Sitting across from me, Making me an unwilling audience To all the drama. You vibrate. Your shoulders droop Like the gape-toothed village idiot. You gesticulate, Fading in and out In a semi-conscious awakening. You're trembling under stones Sitting on your chest. It shows in your tembling hands. *Twenty, for two... Twenty-five, for six...* I overhear your child is truant, Another wants a ride, Another a car, doctor or lawyer. You're shuffling in your seat. Not to worry. Affter the stones are lifted, And you're properly pegged In the stink hole, the game's over. Thirty, for twelve and a go. Game. So deal with it.

29

I’m drunk, like, actualy drunk and i find that all i want is you, still, even affter ive forgotten alot of other peoples names. i think my brain is fried and i still don’t care because the psrt that holds you is still ther and i think thats all that matters, really.

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Aug 13, 2014

Aug 13, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC

claire-elizabeth

drunk

I’m drunk, like, actualy drunk and i find that all i want is you, still, even affter ive forgotten alot of other peoples names. i think my brain is fried and i still don’t care because the psrt that holds you is still ther and i think thats all that matters, really.

6