"childishness" poems
Hypocracy Mandatory.
Gullibility Mandatory.
Insensitivity Mandatory.
Obesity Mandatory.
Immaturity Mandatory.
Childishness Mandatory.
Monarchy Mandatory.
Capitalism Mandatory.
Conservatism Mandatory.
Terrorism Mandatory.
Corruption Mandatory.
Incompetence Mandatory.
Socialism Mandatory.
Dictatorship Mandatory.
Militarism Mandatory.
Liberalism Mandatory.
Bhuddism Mandatory.
Islam Mandatory.
Christianity Mandatory.
Judaism Mandatory.
Hinduism Mandatory.
Vedism Mandatory.
Hatred Mandatory.
Anarchy Mandatory.
Jealousy Mandatory.
Nationalism Mandatory.
Fascism Mandatory.
Racism Mandatory.
Lies Mandatory.
Hypocracy Mandatory.
Obesity Mandatory.
Heart Disease Mandatory.
Cancer Mandatory.
Idiocy Mandatory.
Eco-Nazism Mandatory.
All of us Humans.
Of all Five Colours.
Wherever we be.
Whatever we do.
However we "see" ourselves.
What do we call ourselves now?.
How about shallow nitpickers?.
Or celebrity obsessed morons?.
Or religious hypocrits?.
Or Democrats?.
Or Socialists?.
Or Revolutionaries.
Or just plain "nice folks"?.
Or supporters of oligarchy policies?.
Or immature backpackers?.
Or government assassins of integrity?.
Or juicy ***********
Or swift tongued ******** ticklers?.
no matter how many lie dead or injured as a result
of our obfuscation and avoidance.
As if poets have the explanation to life
except in strings of meaningless associated
but fine sounding words.
When "poets" are the voluntary slaves of Mind
and Conditioned Identity..
As if poets had the ***** to go beyond all these things.
As if .
Scrape the Moons suface and you will find a delicate Castello Blue Cream Cheese.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
"I love you."
My fingers froze:
dark eyes on a list
as long nails clacked
on gray keys which
stuck with age and use.
I dreamed of love,
sweet hordes of
doves escorting me
to my desire of
love, love, love.
Such dreaming flags
floated in my mind,
wishing to be a hot ***
body made of rag,
a delicious mess
of hearty gags.
I wanted promiscuity,
in all its forms,
shed of all its innuendo
and flimsy disguises.
I wanted hard action,
man on man,
cheap rides and
cheaper thrills.
I wanted to be a little
pornographic princess,
a tiny-dicked seductress,
big ***** conductress
of all his passions.
My flag flew up as a
hormonal reaction,
attraction,
smooth bodied and
tight lipped action
running up and down
my jaded cadaver.
He wanted a **** *****
a promiscuous witch,
casting love spells and
**** glances to make him
itch.
He entered my love nest,
the back seat of a car,
to destroy my frame,
to rid me of my childishness.
My folly melted away
in sexyhot sways
of my hips as
my lips would say
lust filled nothings
that would be filled by
empty sighs and
****** filled
"I love you's."
My fingers froze:
as brown turned to white,
my body turned to snow
and rained down around
his swollen flagpole.
He was incompetent,
inept at the deed
and unable to satisfy,
but it was my ego that needed
this gratification, not my
libido.
I laid in the aftermath of the attack,
calm,
demure,
sad but
ultimately relieved
Finally,
I am ravaged.
I have soiled my nation
and salted my own fields,
laying waste to my youth,
my innocence.
I wanted to be conquered
and so did I receive,
being taken and
yet somewhat untaken.
I remember his voice,
that dumb accent.
I remember his preconceptions
of what this was supposed to be.
"I love you."
My fingers froze:
as lungs filled with air,
and brain filled with contempt,
my jaded body grew
to desire--
God, I really wish I had a cigarette.
I remember how he thought
I cared,
how he though that
anybody did.
I remember how,
I thought I had, too.
"I love you."
No, you don't.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
Dear Marc (like cheese),
Your hair is soft (like cheese),
Your bed smells cool (like cheese),
Your chin is squishy (like cheese).
I like your basement (like cheese),
I like your drums (like cheese),
I like the ground (like cheese),
I like bubble pipes (like cheese).
Your socks are black (like cheese),
Your eyes are blue (like cheese),
Your hair is yellow (like cheese),
Your floor is carpet (like cheese).
You like cabbage poems (like cheese),
You like play station (like cheese),
You like cigar smoke (like cheese),
You like chocolate (like cheese).
I like your style (like cheese),
I like that you dance (like cheese),
I like your childishness (like cheese),
I like Pokemon (like cheese).
You are tall (like cheese),
You are white (like cheese),
You are my friend (like cheese),
You are Marc (like cheese).
I AM COLE (unlike cheese)
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:08 AM UTC
Peter Pan Swore
Peter Pan swore we’d never
age if we, just believed, but
everyday the fairytales fade
away like little fallen fireflies,
instead wrinkles and stress
introduce new heartaches...
no time for childishness
whenever time smolders
james kenneth blaylock
6-24-21
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 12:22 PM UTC
**gingerly on the knife-point of a problem
my inflated ego slowly was punctured
i heard the hiss of its demystification
in that constricted moment of revelation
a moment that enthused about the demise
of my avid hallucination now laid bare
salvation, the voice of naked truths chanted
is neither in the fig leaves nor in bashfulness
and the humming monotone of desperation
is a boost to candid inactivity and stillness
it is in such big-bore moments that we of
puerile yearnings recognize our childishness
a voice told me to stop tempting fate forthwith
for in truth i was a child with a dangerous toy
and only pampered tutors could stay the course**
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
I'm sorry...
That you think I am weak
That I don't measure up to your expectations
That you felt the need to berate me
I'm also sorry...
That you feel I was not worthy
That I was where you took out your frustrations
That you no longer tolerate me
I'm not sorry
That you cut me out of your life
Your circle
Your childishness
thank you!
You made my life EASIER
More PLEASANT
More POSITVE
thank you with all my heart for going away
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
I don’t believe in growing up
I’m still a schoolboy pratt
Whenever I see bra-straps
They just fidget to be snapped.
*
Sunburnt brit:
It’s the new colour
In the Dulux range this summer.
*
If dogs had people’s thumbs
And people had dogs’ tongues
Would they be texting messages
While we were sniffing bums?
*
The cutest thing is when confused
Mummy’s little soldier
Waves the skirt of truce.
*
I guess there was a last time
I sat on daddy’s head
And grabbed on tight to his greying hair
As he led me by the legs
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 5:08 AM UTC
Your tears are like champagne;
They cost more than you like to admit in polite company
And they're saved for the most special of occasions.
Every drop is to commemorate a monumentous event
(even if the event isn't immediately obvious to the rest of us).
When we were together I never got closer than hearing the bubbles fizz below the surface.
When we broke up you popped the cork and showered everything in sight with alcoholic nothingness.
My tears are like, well, water;
Not in that you need them to survive
But in that they are inescapable.
My fragility (or childishness) is evident in leaking taps
And dripping branches
And 80% of my biological make up.
When we were together you drank nothing but saltwater sadness.
shame, joy, surprise, every emotion warranted another glass of water.
When we broke up my tear ducts popped like two water balloons and nobody was surprised, they had already opened their umbrellas and taken a precautionary step back.
If they had stood a little closer, opened their mouths a little wider, they might have caught the fleeting taste of bitter wine and the closest I have ever come to crying champagne tears.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
An army
in flower-print
dresses
resides in our backyard
on a guilty clothesline.
Their bloated bodies
float in the water
of the wind.
In our tiny gestures, we tell potential buyers
that we had two beautiful daughters
who left their clothes everywhere,
and we have finally killed
them.
In small voices
they sing for justice
on the clothesline.
But the dresses
are our own childishness,
and not our fake childrens'.
And we tell our buyers these things,
because we want to leave this place,
but on our own terms.
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
Are you smart?
Yes
You don't act like it
They don't understand.
You know exactly what you're saying, and all you need is for them to understand.
But they refuse to understand.
Refuse to open their minds to the world you speak of.
It's scary, you know. They know.
But they don't understand.
That your choice to venture out and into the risk, the life is a bold choice.
Not a stupid one, like they think.
Your choice to make a life unlike any they have ever experienced.
It is not impulse. Rebellion. Stupidity. Youth.
Maybe it is youth.
But youth as a blessing.
Youth; not childishness.
Youth as a strength. A weapon. A catapult.
To launch you into the life you know to be yours.
They will never understand.
And that is no fault.
You understand.
And that's what counts.
So use your youth as a catapult and your soul as wings to fly.
Out into the world you know.
The life bestowed upon you.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
I’ve been playing perfect princess
Glittered-up to keep them guessing
Breaking my back and sweating daily
To build a throne to lord it over
I was thinking, on a pedestal
Life would never let me down
They said petulance would be my undoing
Jealousy my unraveling
And unrelenting childishness the block that toppled the tower
I fell hard one day and wondered
If it was really worth the work
I’ve been losing myself in pieces
Bits of fluff that swiftly scattered
Torn away by city wind tunnels
And the terror of disappointment
All I have left are sticky feelings
The worst bits that wouldn’t stray
This city has me restless
Turning circles in my bedroom
Wishing for a different skyline, different season, different shore
If I weren’t averse to running
I’d be miles away by now
Yet the pavement has been calling
Has been tempting me to sprinting
Flying down an empty highway
With the hope of something more
Same old same old has me snapping
Lashing out at all I know
I’ve become uneven compromise
Tried to spare myself the conflict
But ended up too vexed to enjoy things either way
I’ve been dreaming, still, of running
Though I’m scared of what I’d find
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 8:04 PM UTC
I recall the delicate flickering under the steepled sky
Always with the slight taste of sorrowful smoke.
No more.
Now leaden flames flash in the semi-dark,
The glow of childhood or childishness
Replaced in favor of some mechanical impostor.
A penny for your thoughts sir,
A quarter for your prayers.
Say what you will
About waxen tears and the sting of smoke,
At least there was a record
And you knew how it stood.
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 12:31 AM UTC
Smoking a cigarette with the Schizophrenic Socrates.
He tells me I'm being childish; young.
Few ways past that-- and good!
Growth!, Growth!, Natural growth!
Childishness and impish hormones--such inspirations!
Motivations until the paling end!
How stupid, how dumb,
How backwards I had it then-- Good!
A new lesson flourishing!
Sad destruction by his standards; perspective!
New reasons to speak, finding reason to grow!
Groom! Growth! Groom!
Loudness and disorder, Anarchy! Freedom!
Freedom of tongue and mind! Broken back, broken arms, broken neck! Purpose!
Loitering and loathing! End your voyage laughing!
Curiosity has been struck, tell them to be young, tell them to be middle aged, and old, dead! Immortal!
The observation of self must continue past myself!
Study me!
Study yourself!
Always!
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
Adamant is he
Lonely is he
Insecure is he
Crabby is he
Dependent is he
Scrawny is he
He is, in his old age
He is, in his
Second Childishness !
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 8:39 AM UTC
it's all these feelings
welling up inside me
that make it impossible
to sleep at night.
it's all these memories
of what you did to me
that make it impossible
to cry for you.
it's all this confusion--
am i supposed to or not--
that's making it impossible
to let you go.
i wish it wasn't like this.
22 years old.
but sometimes i feel
the childishness rising within
to the surface
and all i can do is
be a child again.
i scrape my knee:
it's bruised and bleeding.
i cut my finger:
it stings and hurts.
i'm scared of the dark:
I sleep with my Sock Monkey.
Children don't have insomnia.
22 year old's do.
i do.
it's like that song.
"i'm waiting in the dark/ thought that you'd be here by now."
no one's here. you're not here.
i'm alone.
A phone call from someone who loves me
and i love him.
never a call from you though.
never a card, an email, a note
that says you're ok.
and i think to myself
all those years
all those months
all those weeks
all those days
all those hours
all those minutes
all those seconds
all those moments
all those slaps
all those kicks
all those lectures
all those screams
all those punches
all those kisses
all those "i love you"s
i think to myself
i don't want any of it back.
you took all that from me
and i don't want it back.
i don't want you back.
i don't want the pain
i don't want the abuse
i don't want the beatings
i don't want the worthless feeling
i don't want the constant failure
i don't want the loneliness
i want to be happy.
i want:
moving on.
moving past.
forgiving and forgetting.
letting go.
i want to sleep.
i wish i was strong
resilient and fearless.
i wish i was okay.
and i wish you were here.
but i have to stop wishing for those fantasies.
i have to stop dreaming fairytale endings for this story.
i have to stop trying to rewrite unwritten history.
i have to let what is be.
so watch me closely. listen to the sound of my voice.
hear the strength and the surety.
let it fill you with its honesty and truth.
i am walking away from this.
i am not turning my back on you.
but i am walking away.
this is not the life i want.
this is not the life i choose.
if you want me i'll be there.
but you'll never get me like you used to.
i'll never give you all of myself again.
the trust is gone.
and i can't bring it back.
i'm tired of the lies
so i'm walking away.
i never dreamed of this day
i never expected its coming.
i never thought anything like this could happen
i never imagined i'd be saying
Mom, goodbye.
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 4:20 PM UTC
IT WAS THEN
She realized it then
When her heart hopped
Into her mouth screaming
Out ludicrous love songs
And her stomach started
To spin around like a cyclone
And she had this overwhelming urge to
***** and run
But he was her home
So she collapsed into his arms
And relished the feeling of just him being
There.
IT WAS THEN
She realized that she had
Fallen hopelessly in love
And she remembered that feeling
Seven months later
When she craved it so bad
That she fell to the floor and
Broke like glass
Bits and pieces of herself
Shattering
Everywhere and she had
Lost herself
Truly that time
Feeling like she was grasping at thin air
Or clouds
Trying to get a grip
To stop the falling
But every firm thing
Slipping through her grasp.
IT WAS THEN
She crashed down on the grasslands
Numb.
Her back ached from landing on the
Earth with such force
And her ears rang.
The broken bits had
Come back together
Forcefully, and it hurt to breathe
Because she was used to some places
Being empty
So it felt awkward now that they were full.
She lay there
For a while,
Looking up the sky
Watching him lead another girl up
Abysmally high
Waltzing on clouds
Her laughter innocent and sweet.
IT WAS THEN
She felt the sharp ache in her head.
She knew now.
All ludic childishness
A faint memory
She was back to normal now
Reality.
She wondered what love was
Blindness or foolishness.
She couldn't decide.
She got up
And walked away
Into the sunrise.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Prelude
Seeing thee again is indeed invigorating-look at how my thoughts are now brimming-with t'eir lost souls! T'ose souls who faded away-as I was severely bereft of my muchness. But now I am glowing with it again, whenever I remembereth our chilly encounter t'is afternoon; thou wandering at lightning pace-in thy fond childishness! But furthermore thou in t'ose fond eyes-and t'eir depth, o! Thinking of thee makes my heart shimmer-and credulous to thy gentle love. And I shall but never go wrong again-as our fates, I assume; are but inevitably, and so dearly, bound to each other, my dear, my dear.
O, and but today wasth I chanced to see my lover;
shining bright and tender like a glade in a bower.
Storming out in gladness out of his chamber;
and as we talked his face grew fonder!
O, lovelier and keener didst he become, through th' more
subservient seconds-as though truly adorned with passion,
Entranced by such courage and fated determination.
I listened carefully to his fond elaboration;
and confined myself to my meek walls of admiration.
My thee, o, my thee!
T'is as if everything hath been our fierce destiny
And shall our paths but cross again-
of which I'm certain, under yon strumming daylight-
when t'at weeping moon waivers.
And all t'at wailing bark shall ever come to an end-as our
luminous, but fair melody lingers.
My moon-and th' following morning, it
shan't any longer be weeping.
To th' despondent grass wilt it start singing-bestowing
th' delayed merit whilst bent is 'tis body-and dancing:
Every other fault shalt come back
from t'eir mistake!
And th' latent dangers shalt be put well
at a steep stake.
And t'ose rings-o, rings of love, as t'ey are, by t'is wan light silver
A light whose abyss shan't ever again last forever.
And protected as we are-chained by our ripe love-
Shall we proceed into serene joy, and resides there-
within th' grand layers of our hearts, and splendid flames
of t'is wondrous eternity.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 10:20 AM UTC
Cursing the crap cluttered coats hanging in their rigor-mortis regiments
only to fall to the floor again
and again.
I cannot speak to insufferable sirens but suffer alone instead
Crying into the soft white bread and texting tormentedly
Lost is everything insignificant that I desperately require
Gone is the fear of Sugared words: 'you're fired'
Leaving for more clustered, flustering days
that fade to an unreachable haze
I sit inside time, it taunts my heart
flashing past in joy and in bordem refusing to part
Decisions must be decided and lessons must be learnt
as I shall push myself, but this should hurt more,
More shoved into my core
which trembles flabbily inches from the floor.
Do not question me
Do not inquire
Just provide me with the life i desire.
Forgive my childishness and ranting scrawl.
But i'm tired, and I only see days before a fall
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 2:50 PM UTC
I want a guy who is cute, wants to know about me most times. He doesn’t care who is looking or talking he means what he says and does what he promises. I promise not to overlook the fact that he wants me there most times but we both know we need our time to ourselves. I want a guy that I can call mine, challenges me, and doesn’t need to tell me about his future cos I see it. He allows me to be selfish, myself, childish and romantic. Am not talking about no ordinary guy or *** freak and still not an idiot with no sense of character. Money is not a second thought cos he knows I love to be spoilt besides he’s got responsibilities just being mine. I’ve got dreams, we have a future together even though we don’t live it together our story remains.
He’s sweet, I’ll love him to bits, I don’t know him yet to be my man but watch out I’ll say. The way he looks at me, he knows how he makes me feel oh no speechless. He makes me laugh, think better and kiss him till he’s soft inside. I wanna stay up all night just for him, in his arms…
Give him fashion tips to hype up his swagger, turn his mistakes to childishness, talk his sorrows off his mind, and ask him questions hes not got answers to, make him angry and confused about me. When I am done show him my simplistic beauty he fell in love wid in the first place.
Girls wanna have him but I know he’s mine. He shows me to his brethens and calls me up wen dem gals think they’ve got a chance. It’s shocking the way he does it, lover boy they say but am the best he knows. He tells me not to be jealous but I’ve got to make him be on his toes, this way he knows I still care.
He’s changed me and me him. His mum or dad likes me, his friends don’t take me for granted cos he mentions ma name wid such respect. Most important of this love thing we on is that he respects my God and knows him for himself. My man is not perfect but believes he can be the one I want for life, hmmmm except you’ve got a better choice. ***
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
Something special in them
An old man
Beautiful grandfather
Spectacles
Perched on his forehead
Sat to read the newspaper
But everything was blurry
He realized
Where were his spectacles?
He looked around
Couldn't find them
Called his daughter
Asked her the same
A moment of joy!
Take her hand
Did she
To his forehead
And brought back
The glasses
Straight to his eyes!
What was radiant
And infections
Was the gentle
Smile on the old man's
And his daughter's faces
One being happy at
Someone's childishness
The other
In child like
Realization!
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 3:34 AM UTC
The man I love is full of curiosity
He has a benign charm and ardour
His youthful soul is bright with splendor
He is far from madness and animosity
The man I love is nothing but distant
To him I am just a small yoke of childishness
I a servant who serves him a jar of friendliness
He a merchant, handsome precious but indignant
The man I love is not the one I met
He is the stem and root of my morning flower
Plump as a shade of the glade in a bower
Dainty as the evening dove's cozy net
The man I love has now been gone
Unreachable no matter how fast I could run
In his arms is a dame with endless beauty
Pleased as he is by her false murmurs of vivacity
The man I love is not within my sight
But he is still the one source of my gracious delight
In him only do I lose my thought and wildest daydreams
For him do I vow my love and the highest esteem.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
He is just a attraction don't make him your distraction...(friends said)
I'm just part of your childishness and fiction..(he said)
Now after eight year my heart proved he is my love...
Neither a attraction nor a distraction...
Just a part of my wonderfull life and heart with a wonderful feeling but a one sided destination.....!!!!!! Copyrights : Anjali
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 10:41 AM UTC
Do you remember when I told you I never dream?
Now I can’t stop these ******* dreams of you.
Dreams that start mundane enough:
a trip to the store; a walk about campus;
and suddenly, you.
Where you shouldn’t be.
(I thought we drew an imaginary line down I-29)
Sometimes you call out to me,
and others, you pretend I’m some stranger,
instantly interesting in my mystery,
easily forgotten in my absence.
Invariably, I approach.
Invariably, you’re not alone.
Who is this brown eyes, stupid smirk, gold watch?
This pressed collar, boat shoes, jawline?
I ignore him and focus on you.
“Why do you haunt my dreams?
Does my waking mind not chase you enough?
All I want is rest.”
Sometimes you laugh at my childishness,
and others, you and jawline stare at me blankly.
Invariably, I ask for a private word.
Invariably, you oblige.
“Why are you here? Why are you always here?”
“This is all in your head”
“Even more reason I deserve an answer;
an honest one–though you were never too good at those.”
A pause.
“I’ve never lied to you,”
“Sometimes I’d omit parts of the truth,
and others, I’d spare you minor detail.
Invariably, you’d rest easier.
Invariably, you’d dream of me.
You always did.”
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC