"batted" poems
She introduced herself, as
Sunset.
Batted her lashes not to be flirtatious ,
But to hide that her eyes were wet.
All around me were blurred, but beautiful faces.
Yet, my eyes only focused on hers
The first that I noticed.
*When I bought my first camera,
From that sales-man down in Alabama.
And he taught me how to use it,
He said, "see here son, if I was to take your picture I'd set this camera here on portrait.
But if I took a picture of that pretty little girl 'cross the road"
he said with a smirk
"I'd have to set this here camera on Firework"*
It's funny how memories work.
I think of that man now, of his coffee colored skin and straw hat.
I never thought I'd need to know any of that.
but right here and now I set that camera to sunset.
raise it to my eye
And take a picture of
Sunset.
As if she were a colorful sky.
and that's it.
some people deserve more than a portrait.
And I know, I'm going to take her to a dark room.
And see what develops, of her negatives.
But first, I want to hear all about her crazy relatives.
Who gives her, her beauty?
where's she take her dog to groom?
The poodle on her leash is a cutie.
and what does she doodle on her notebooks?
stars or hearts or sugar skulls....
Does she know she's caught me on her fishin' hook?
What's she think of me, I'm sure I look dull.
Why are her teary eyes so full, About to overflow.
There were so many things I wanted to know....
before I took her to a dark room.
But it happened
And all I found in the picture that developed was gloom.
I realized I was her first.
And the best night of my life became my worst.
because I took something from her she didn't want to give.
But I just didn't know that she wouldn't want to live.
Keep reading, this ends beautifully.
beautifully like a sunset ends a day.
But, you have to believe me when I say that's not nearly as beautifully
As Sunset ends my hopes and dreams.
How she ended her own life
With pretty little pink pills.
One....Two....Three
gripped in her hand they found a picture of me.
And now I know, Sunsets are all about Beautiful Endings.
It's funny how memories work
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
My heart is a plaything
On a length of tattered string,
Batted at by paws
With unrestrained claws.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
when i was just a little girl
mama said, "you're the prettiest girl in the world"
and at four years old, sitting with a mirror
i batted my big green eyes, and simply believed her
for this was just something that i'd always been told
it was a fact of the world that i was beautiful
six years old, with long, blonde curls
and mama said, "you're the prettiest girl in the world"
i remembered the phrase, but doubted her words
i had no front teeth, and a voice too soft to be heard
but it must've been true, 'cause mama's don't lie
but how could it be that the prettiest girl would be so shy?
eight years old, with a baseball cap on my head
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i looked down at my soccer jersey and cleats
"if i'm so pretty how come i have such big feet?"
but mama didn't miss a beat, she was so smart
she said, "you're prettiness shines through your great big heart"
ten years old, with a notebook and a pencil full of lead
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i barely heard the words, and decided i was fat
pretty girls like shopping, not books and baseball bats
and the pretty girls don't need to constantly be reading
because when you see a pretty boy, a pretty girl is leading
twelve years old, and wishing i was dead
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i knew it was a lie, and i was severely ******
if i'm so pretty then what are all these ugly scars left on my wrist?
but i nodded to my mother, and told her that i knew
maybe i was dying, but i wouldn't bring mom down, too
fourteen years old, lying in my bed
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i knew it was a lie, but i'd made my peace with that
i'd always be a little ugly, i'd always be a little fat
i didn't look like a model, but that was okay
i never would be pretty, but who cares, anyways?
now i'm fifteen, and i'm starting to be okay
"you're the prettiest girl in the world" is what mama will say
i know i'm not the prettiest, but more importantly, i'm kind
real beauty isn't in the face, real beauty's in the mind
i'm learning to accept the hand that i've been dealt
and i'm starting to heal my heart after all the pain i've felt
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
His heart was kept in a babooshka-doll
that released memory smells
with every layer that eroded.
The wooden fences faded
to damp brick in the corner
of his head reserved for the harmonica
that played through the microphone
in his neck till the sound got lodged
in his maudlin march
that had him running like he
was angry at the road.
His Echostep
vibrating in
the kremlin skin
and marrionette heart strings
that kept him.... him.
Despite broken wings
he made the air around him dance
with the resonance of each
broken crystal ball shard used
to predict the past.
Each chime raised a mountain,
folding back on itself
hoping the hallucination would end,
till tired hands
batted away golden hawks.
With rocks for claws.
It was all the fights with the wind
that had the clouds leaving the moon's
Picaso skies,
and sailing towards him on warships of
rain and frozen effigies.
They arrived, astronauts
from outer space
burning from the lips
outwards revealing grey
intent and red mists.
He fought back with false start
epiphanies and the falsetto
prophecies that stung the air
with pitch raining down.
Leaving bare branches where once
green hands applauded
everything but empty air,
like listless typewriters furiously
trying to find their voices.
Feirce winds and fake faces
left blinking with closed eyes
in the vastness of battlefield.
Turning stomaches and
blank canvas whirlpools,
storms of anti-peace
scarring the last conquests
of the flightless ape lizard,
and all his gorilla warfare.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
If your eyes could speak
The way you batted your eyelashes robs me of my insanity
I try to pull myself away from you
But your beauty just throws me intro frenzy
Darling, my curiosity is piqued
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 10:59 AM UTC
Sometimes there's a seamstress sewing in my head
Quilting batted blankets of existential dread
Comforters and covers cover all of our cold dead
They're neatly surged and finished in copper linen thread
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
dear iron maiden
leatherette bound spine
worn blue dress
gaslight district cafe smile
eighth floor
ninth floor
whatever
i’m here
four doors down
knocking on
thrift store loneliness
that you just can’t give away nowadays*
we
dare polaroids
point and laugh
but not of mockery
catalog pictures
a galaxy or two
more panoramic for any shutter
wide angle lens
a thousand batted lashes
and double takes
i’m easy to capture
and purposely left behind
like a coffee cup beyond the windowsill
beneath the screenprint letters
(and) for your eyes
——————————-
*wednesday
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
Help me fall in love with you
Your something I'd
Want to get to know
With those curls that twirl
Like an afternoon in free falling
Swirl
There was something in the way you said
"I like it this way and I like it like that"
Made me laugh
Was there something else I coulda' done?
Should I have song?
Never turned my back on your sun?
Perhaps I needed the road more than I thought did,
Maybe there was more then nothing
In our love that I knew nothing of
With these questions being batted
There is nothing to do but sit
Un-flattered
Take away every memory of our sea of love
For in song there is nothing but the sight of
Flying doves
Apr 20, 2011
Apr 20, 2011 at 7:51 PM UTC
He called her a **** at dinner
Told she could be thinner
Played the part of being an ***
Voicing opinions deemed crass
A waiter wandered up
Refilling a cup
Gave the girl a wink
But was more of a sporadic blink
Her date stood tall
And turned his fist into a ball
Told the waiter to **** right off
A comment muddled by a cough
Then, in an act of violence
Came a brief respite of silence
The waiter was struck in the jaw
Knocked on the floor captured in awe.
He was then beaten ‘til dead
Over inferences read
The woman screamed
At her date, the blood coated fiend
Police were brought in
The man simply grinned
Cuffs were attached
As the man’s might was matched
A month later
Due to the dead waiter
The man had his day in court
A bailiff acted as his escort
The man was sentenced to 15 years
The woman, in attendance, shed no tears
The man was taken
He appeared visibly shaken
Taken to a cell at Briar Field
A place all go to yield
He was beaten for days on end
By prisoners looking for time to spend
Searching for a sense of hope
Utilized in avoiding a knotted rope
The man found a friend
With a helping hand to lend
Then one day talking wasn’t enough
The man’s friend got rough
After a quick stich
The man was anointed a *****
Sitting for dinner he was called a ****
By his friend, who had become quite blunt
A guard came by and batted and eye
The friend asked if he wanted to die
Said this man was his slave
A poor butt-fucking knave
The guard retreated
Victory conceited
But the friend pressed on
Until the guards life was gone
Then walked back after the stunt
And called the man a fat old ****
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
A beggar lays chained to concrete,
to skyscraper that stretches past clouds,
breathing aside, neither dead nor alive,
we've given up on his release.
For what purpose does he survive?
When his stomach knots empty,
he curls fetal, hands clench chest,
and sobs escape in pants and whines
and saliva and not an eyelash is batted
toward his cup that silently watches:
It hasn't jangled in days.
Lashes litter the sidewalks
from eyeliner applied while
rushing to an extravagant event
in midtown Manhattan,
lights lips reflections,
where all will will be watching
her every move, her every step.
If he wills himself survive,
we can clean him up
in loving arms of sleep deprived nurses
before we kick him back to the curb,
abandoned again with rip-rotting liver,
while we vultures eye another *****
But that girl?
She better not trip over Prometheus
or we might just chain her next.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
You sleep sound
as I
in silence
trance your countenance
with gentle fingertips...
from the gentle slope
of upturned chin
or' soft plumped lips
that earlier bore the taint
of rouge and mine own kiss...
turning my hand to tenderly
back-stroke they cheek
moisturised and cleaned of my heated touch...
up towards now shuttered eyes
in semi permanent state of rest
as before fluttered and batted so
as to place butterfly kisses upon my aching skin...
finally the ears so unadorned by trinkets
yet still bearing a trace of me
my scent left my nuzzling mouth
nibbling gently upon it's perfect lobe...
as you sleep sound
I in silence trace your countenance
with sleepy eyes
mirroring my smile as once more
I brush back your hair and kiss your neck...
sweet dreams my love
and may my love
bring you
sweet dreams.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
She was everything I wanted to be
No wonder I questioned my sexuality
But to find she might be into me?
My heart couldn't help but skip a beat
I was set on being her everything
Four years I batted my eyes
And watched as she fell for others
As she let them between her thighs
As young people will do
I fell for others to
But she was always there in my heart
My feelings always true
Lover apon lover
Cracked and broke me down
Slowly I lost myself
Slowly I began to drown
But I still loved them
Just as I loved her
But how could I love both
And for that I was unsure
Finally one day
I got my chance
After so long in denial
She had given me a second glance
I showed her what I could do
And she fell before me
She fell FOR ME
But it wasn't what I hoped it would be
For once in so long
I found that I didn't want her
And finally my life
Wasn't such a blur
Because I wanted him
And only him
I wanted him so much
That my love for her actually grew dim
I realized that day
That it wasn't about what you were
It was about who you were
Yes finally I was sure
So many people
talk about what they like
But I found that I like whos not whats
I'm not straight I'm not ****
I am who I am
And I'm everything I want to be
And she helped me realize that
She helped me find me
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
This is a very difficult thing to say. I’ve never had these words fall out of my mouth before so, don’t think I’m odd, strange, creepy or anything like that. Okay..phew..here it goes..
I fell in love with a mascot
A year ago our High schools played each other in football
And I didn’t know it back then but
I saw a wolf doing cart-wheels 50 yards away and I thought
It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen
To be honest, I thought it’d be a guy
Not to be sexist or anything but it never occurred to me
That the physical manifestation of beauty could find itself
Wrapped up inside the costume of a wolf
Your school won
And I figured that was a metaphor for how you took my heart
When you pulled off the wolf head
Slid brown hair away from your face
And batted eyelids at me like you were shooting guns
Bulls eye
Lead the crowd to cheer
Your motivation is like a beam of light in this dark 20th century stadium
I just want you to be around as long as possible
I wished the game went into triple overtime
If I learned anything that day it was courage
Because I asked a wolf
For her number
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 1:40 AM UTC
Selina grew up in an orphanage
she was a *******
her father disappeared
after the Great War
her mother
dead from poverty
She was a Catholic
of the highest devotion
she loved Jesus
and Saint Joseph
and after she was
past schooling age (14)
she went off
to serve as a maid
for a good Catholic family
she wanted to be a nurse
but circumstance dictated
that she never could be
not enough school,
then, when she was 17
the 2nd Great War came
and women were needed
to work the steel mills
and shipyards
of Stockton England
she got a job
painting bombs
she signed little things on them
like,
take that ******
but the job
caused her asthma to flare
so she was reassigned
as what was then known as
a postman
clopping around the streets
happily delivering mail
She met a man
named John Hartley
and she intended to marry him
her friends warned her
he's a bachelor,
a woman hater,
but he was also
quite the handsome soldier
they married
after the war
and had five children
three of whom
became nurses
proud tears falling
like rain drops
a life of hardships
which she batted away
with Christ as her shield
summed up
by her
giving her children
what she never had
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 1:36 AM UTC
Breathe, calm down, sit, what happened?
Your eyes are twitching,
Their color, it's switching.
Fear, joy, surprise?
Tell me, what is your demise?
The rays enveloped my eyes,
I drifted down, down into
That tunnel. Gold sparkles and
Poison silver in the air.
Are there goblins waiting, doting on
The scraps of my batted eyelashes?
The monsters, though,
They're bumpy and glow.
Green smiles beckoned and flirted,
Giggled and grinned,
Eyes winked and cheeks pinked.
Spiky hearts of jelly dominated the city.
Offered and given
Blue-brown daises and frogs, small kingdoms and bogs,
Rotted maps, never-ending shoulder taps,
Starched butterflies and broken cats,
Grass blades that cut clouds and dirt mounds,
Drowned fish with no fins, humans without sins.
Stricken with panic when
Asked for by King Gink,
My hand were misplaced.
My fingers desperate, grasping, crying,
For anything'd be better
That meeting the devil.
King Gink bid his men to **** the Cat. "Pick off all the ants, and
Feed them treats, bits of paper and sweetmeats.
If they succeed, I will take Alice as queen."
But the ants were too fat, too satisfied, and died.
Triumphant and vengeful, the Cat kidnapped me Without panting or pause,
Cat zipped off his skin, revealing
A mask remarkably like yours.
A devilish grin and a snickering sneer,
it was you, it was you!
Stop! Let me go! I swear, I swear,
I swear the umbrellas are birds, and that red burns!
Don't sit on that chair,
A porcupine left his spine there!
It's not as it seems, I'm not who I was.
I'm melting, I'm melting….
Breathe, calm down, Alice, you're safe now.
Mr. King Gink is in jail,
The cat put to sleep.
Not one more frightening thing.
Now, lay still, this won't sting.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
Stiff-spined pigs clawing at shins,
thighs, torso; arms and head.
Effervescent atoms spit
from pressurised cans
to clouded, burning eyes.
Batons drop, judging
my ever rolling sins;
breaking bland sheet
of skin into blue, black,
red, swelling purple canvas:
mounds of flesh,
batted time and time again.
Arm twisted, mud faced being, sinking.
Face first dirt. Cuffed, bony wrists
annoy broken-back shoulders:
unforeseen angles.
Frustrated muscles stretch
bemused tendons.
Freedom demolished,
kicking screams provoke
further chest knocks,
ambushed four to one
your body flops;
sagging over tight-gripped,
blue and black jackets,
helmets, batons, badges.
Tossed to the backseat;
prisoner of the siren.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
The feeling in my heart was gone,
I had lost the will to live...
So I came up with a plan.
Slowly, and surely, I would push people away from me.
If everybody hated me, and nobody cared,
I could leave this world without causing heartache.
So I pushed my friends away, I shut down,
I made it so I only depended on myself.
The thing that made it worse,
Was that nobody fought back.
None of my friends ever asked if I was okay,
Nobody wanted to hear what I had to say.
The friends I believed were my own family,
They shrugged off my pain as if it never existed...
They didn't care if I pushed them away,
If I was cut off from the world.
Nobody spoke up. Nobody batted an eye.
So that was it. Now, I could finally be free...
But, if I'm still here,
Something must have happened.
If I'm still here to speak, to type my feelings,
Something must have changed my heart.
I can honestly say,
It was something I never expected. Something 'my plan' did not include.
My internet friends wouldn't let me die.
The friends I had never seen,
The friends I had never felt,
The friends who I'd never heard their voice.
But that day,
I heard them loud and clear.
I never met them,
But they felt more real than life.
I could feel their emotions, they connected with me,
They loved me for who I was.
They changed my mind about life, about death,
Something I never thought could ever happen.
I feel like I can hear their hearts through the keyboard,
I feel like I can hear their voice speak to my heart,
I feel their hands in mine when I need a friend,
I feel their fingers wiping away my tears when I can't hold back,
And I feel them take the knife from my hands.
They're building me up faster than I can tear myself apart.
Those friends...
They are REAL.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Intensity is the underdog story
Wild soil to a champion
Flame out, and maybe
Fell to the drink
Consistency is two years without
So much as a batted eye or a blink
Ten steps ahead, maybe half an inch per week
Books with battered spines stretched across coffee-stained sheets
Intensity is *** or
A free trial for a week
Gold plated words
Tin can actions underneath
Consistency is the love, and
Knowing I know I will never know enough
Unconscious heartbeat
The very breath that fills my lungs
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 7:33 PM UTC
Little blue-eyed girl spent every day loving.
You could almost see the love oozing out of her eyes when she stared into your soul.
Or the happiness radiating through her fingertips when she held your hand.
She was the color yellow.
She was the sunshine and the dandelions, the lemon lollipops and countless smiles.
Little blue-eyed girl loved with all she had in her.
She touched every human soul she knew
Except her own.
Sometimes, little blue-eyed girl forgot about herself.
But she never forgot to call the girl across the street or help the boy with the beautiful hair find a date.
But sometimes she forgot herself.
She wrote less,
Smiled less,
Thought about herself less,
Talked less.
But she cried more.
Suddenly, little blue-eyed girl realized she had forgot how to love herself.
She distantly remembered the days when she looked at herself in the mirror and smiled.
The girl who loved her small hands and her warm smile were like ghosts dancing in her brain.
She remembered the pigtails and the overalls that she had burned when he told her to.
She couldn’t remember when doodling on her arm in class had transitioned into counting down the ticking minutes in anxiety.
Her countless days of self love weren’t countless anymore.
She didn’t even know how to count anymore.
Where did all the love go?
And then she remembered the boy with the floppy hair that she poured her soul into and he batted her away.
Or the girl with thick, raven curls that told her she was too much to handle, too strange to talk to.
Or the boy with the freckles that drained her of love.
The one who made her keep on giving when she had nothing left to give.
He drained her like a strawberry milkshake and he made sure to slurp up the remains at the bottom so there would be nothing left.
No, little blue-eyed girl didn’t have anxiety or depression.
She didn’t know someone who had committed suicide or had died.
She didn’t have a drinking problem, a drug problem.
Little blue-eyed girl didn’t have an illness that you can put a label on and prescribe medication for.
There was nothing wrong with little blue-eyed girl then.
Was there?
Diagnosis: “she gave more love than she could ever receive”
-Olivia Wirth
8 / 9 / 16
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
I wish my head would stop turning in the direction of my phone,
waiting with batted breath for the writing of text, an indication you're still awake.
I wish I wouldn't fill up with overwhelming waters of disappointment,
because I already know that you won't reply.
I wish you would text me first because I don't want to seem clingy.
I wish I could stop my eyes from glancing at your name every five seconds,
wishing it was a name belonging to a person I didn't want to need.
I wish I didn't miss you so late at night.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
This poem was written to describe/honor a boat-shaped wooden sculpture on which a town was built.
Here’s humanity chucked on that tub
Figure the fuss in the ship’s hold
Roaming ‘round the deck, helm is hell for holding
How come that outland ship ain’t capsizing?
They ****** up their toll of ****** *****
Thrown out, left behind, they’re coping with that schism
Roving ‘round Ocean blue between two small isthmus
Grinning like they used to ain’t gonna be easy fun.
Here’s humanity beating it to starboard
If they had behaved themselves, possibly
God almighty wouldn’t have batted an eye
Zealous lots in exile on that ****** city-boat
They built up walls ‘gainst their bitter heartbreaks
Alleys, their homes and even small gardens
On a boat! Oh my, isn’t that tub gonna sink?
The wind-facing prow is a freakin’ chimera!
Such a craft is like a merry-go-round
You feelin’ sea-sick ? Looks like a hiccup!
It’s not rocket science, maybe a bit pitchin’
Here’s these talented convicts’ last resort!
Translated from the original version in French, July 19, 2018, Oullins. Appoline
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 7:46 AM UTC
give me some sort
of interaction
I find myself now
yearning for it so
I'm lonely it's no
secret, no surprise
and certainly no
blessing, no dream
nor nightmare
unleashed upon me
I can't tell you what
that could mean
I wouldn't know what
to do with you if I had
you, sympathetic lady
I don't know much of
anything anymore, I've
yearned so fully lately
I need some feeling to
distract my mind from
the things I've seen
there is necessity
in my yearning, the
warped clarity it brings
I need the touch of
a woman
I'm tired of the scratch
of any other girl
batted eyelashes, pretty
lashes on trusting backs
it's all anticlimactic
yet I'm still so confused
by women
enigmatic woe-
catalysts
flowers bloom
in their step
cradling art
in their wake
I wish I could lie
pacified with a soft
warmth at my side
till the weight, gently
lifted from my back
sets upon my eyes
ah, love
I grow so bored with
feeling lonely
I'm so exhausted
with never knowing
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
Restless eyes batted senselessly keep me awake.
Numbing illusion grabs hold of my feeble mind and I weep at the thought of my own destruction.
"Savior, savior, where art thou?
Hast thou left me to my own devices?"
Trouble, trouble, all around.
Madness wreaks my daunted mind
Shadows leap the unkept room
Dance back to canto ye demons of old!
Ravishing through the harrows of an untidy brain
Checking for sanity, what little remains,
The pace quickens
The plot thickens
It's madness in the mind of a passerby!
I see a helpless fellow,
Whose wings are too heavy to let him fly
And his heart too weary to let him abandon his own mortality.
Fool, I say.
Fool for being so careless, where he puts his love.
Should be kept in a sacred jar
And locked away.
"Nay nay" stranger overhears,
"My heart was right
My heart was just,
I must fight to win what I call mine for love is only given to those who fight for it."
I let him live his fantasy,
Poor boy who committed too many crimes and only wants more chances.
However, I think, persistence is rewarded to those with justice in their hearts.
I think it not too heavy after all.
And then I wake in the treacherous night
To realize that the boy
Was me.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
The Princess and the frog
time and distance had taken its toll
old and weathered and somewhat forgotten
he hopped on tired legs
all too often shunted by his former mate
he wondered if there was more
he wondered if there was a reason
he was no longer driven
he no longer hoped
he no longer dreamed
he missed the passion
but knew not how to recover
his dreams
his desires
then he stumbled into a garden
it was a new garden
one he had never before seen
he wondered why he was here
he wondered if he was just lost
then hello was whispered
he looked around seeing no one
then another hello a bit louder
he looked up and staring down
staring down at him
was a beautiful flower
a sunflower
a sunflower with big beautiful eyes
she batted her eyes and smiled
he was amazed she had noticed
none noticed him these days
are you lost the sunflower asked
I think I may be he answered
well welcome to my garden
my name is the Princess Perly
what is your name
I am just an old frog was his reply
and it matters not my name
but I am glad to meet you Princess Perly
they talked for a long time
she finally had to leave
and he was sorry she had to go
but he returned to the garden the next day
and they met again and shared
shared thoughts and feelings
she was so kind and sweet
and beautiful beyond his dreams
slowly he fell in love with the princess
well he kind of suspected it was rather quicker
day after day
they would meet in the garden
he finally told her
that he was in love with her
she blushed but did not answer
time moved on
his desires returned
his dreams returned
the princess finally gave in to his heart
she told him she also loved him
his world would never be the same
she kissed him gently
and his life would never be the same
though time would change things
they stayed deeply in love
they stayed the best of friends
though he was still a frog
he knew he was someone again
he was loved by a Princess
and that made him smile...
Gomer LePoet....
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
the night consisted of me hinting at the presence of a guy
a guy i really like, a guy whose name
like a reverie, i could not bring myself to utter
i talked about everything because i do not care
i do not care about you, your enamoured face, your
saccharine words, instead i batted them away
as if they were unwanted flies harassing a dim light
of which they are enraptured by, devotedly yet
foolishly
by the end of the night i had grown tired of entertaining
the ghost of the guy whose name i could not utter
of glimmering gutlessly at my blatant apathy
of being a subject of novelty
you were the kid, strung on by a piece of nothing
and i was the power-bearer, merciless in
faithless speeches, indulgent in frivolousness
so i halted the meet, streamed mindlessly towards
a place where i renounced my false interest
my douchebaggery, then proceeded to wipe off
the kiss you'd left on my unwitting, unwelcoming lips
i do not like you, do not want traces of you to
envelope, overwhelm the traces of him on me
but i don't think they ever will
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC