"meanest" poems
593
I think I was enchanted
When first a sombre Girl—
I read that Foreign Lady—
The Dark—felt beautiful—
And whether it was noon at night—
Or only Heaven—at Noon—
For very Lunacy of Light
I had not power to tell—
The Bees—became as Butterflies—
The Butterflies—as Swans—
Approached—and spurned the narrow Grass—
And just the meanest Tunes
That Nature murmured to herself
To keep herself in Cheer—
I took for Giants—practising
Titanic Opera—
The Days—to Mighty Metres stept—
The Homeliest—adorned
As if unto a Jubilee
’Twere suddenly confirmed—
I could not have defined the change—
Conversion of the Mind
Like Sanctifying in the Soul—
Is witnessed—not explained—
’Twas a Divine Insanity—
The Danger to be Sane
Should I again experience—
’Tis Antidote to turn—
To Tomes of solid Witchcraft—
Magicians be asleep—
But Magic—hath an Element
Like Deity—to keep—
40.2k
They are always with us, the thin people
Meager of dimension as the gray people
On a movie-screen. They
Are unreal, we say:
It was only in a movie, it was only
In a war making evil headlines when we
Were small that they famished and
Grew so lean and would not round
Out their stalky limbs again though peace
Plumped the bellies of the mice
Under the meanest table.
It was during the long hunger-battle
They found their talent to persevere
In thinness, to come, later,
Into our bad dreams, their menace
Not guns, not abuses,
But a thin silence.
Wrapped in flea-ridded donkey skins,
Empty of complaint, forever
Drinking vinegar from tin cups: they wore
The insufferable nimbus of the lot-drawn
Scapegoat. But so thin,
So weedy a race could not remain in dreams,
Could not remain outlandish victims
In the contracted country of the head
Any more than the old woman in her mud hut could
Keep from cutting fat meat
Out of the side of the generous moon when it
Set foot nightly in her yard
Until her knife had pared
The moon to a rind of little light.
Now the thin people do not obliterate
Themselves as the dawn
Grayness blues, reddens, and the outline
Of the world comes clear and fills with color.
They persist in the sunlit room: the wallpaper
Frieze of cabbage-roses and cornflowers pales
Under their thin-lipped smiles,
Their withering kingship.
How they prop each other up!
We own no wilderness rich and deep enough
For stronghold against their stiff
Battalions. See, how the tree boles flatten
And lose their good browns
If the thin people simply stand in the forest,
Making the world go thin as a wasp's nest
And grayer; not even moving their bones.
23.6k
I don’t know why I’m so attracted to people who don’t want me around
Maybe part of me likes it
When he feasts on my heart like a tri-tip
I could run for miles and he wouldn’t chase me
Why did he waste me?
The circles I ran
All the *****
Hitting the fan
In the back of my mind I knew
This **** was to good to be true
Your like salt to my open wounds
But in the end your what makes me stronger
Just when I think I can’t take it that much longer
My heart keeps growing fonder
Or am I holding onto false hope
What if this ain’t love and it’s just the dope?
I’m strung out, a fiend for your love
Yearning for a burning
I can feel my stomach turning
You’re only your sweetest
After you’ve been your meanest
And when all is done and said
I’m lucky if I’m the one you take to bed
When the odds are in my favor
Your minds on the neighbor
But at least I’ve got that purple ********
guess whose on my mind?
The mental manipulator
Wet dream turned night terror
I got Charles Manson
When I wanted
Jack Herer
Ok maybe he’s not like Charlie
But he always made me sorry -
For wasting my time
Wanting you was a crime
Gave you all that
I had to give
Even wrote you this stupid rhyme.
You ask me to stay when my emotions begin to sway
You’ve noticed me noticing him, all of a sudden I’m so far away
What happened to the gallery of ******
All the times you said picking me up was a chore
And when you said we can’t get married
Cause of your credit score
All of a sudden my absence is threatening
Here comes the beckoning
All I’ve ever wanted suddenly looks so sickening
The could of, would of, should of’s
You will always be one of first loves
You say this time will be different
Now the other man seems indifferent
You never wanted me and now you do?
I wanted somebody else
But he left my lips blue
I don’t know why I’m so attracted to people who don’t want me around
When they finally do
My hearts buried in the ******* ground
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
People are disgusting,
They'll hurt you in
meanest possible ways.
They'll misunderstand you,
judge you!
People are disgusting,
Don't talk to them much,
Just keep it in optimum touch.
They'll treat you like a ****
If they make a mistake it's no Biggie,
If you commit then it's a major felony.
I choose Netflix instead,
It does Judge my interest,
Shows me the best watchable result,
Better are the characters and stories
Than fake people and their hollow lies,
I choose Netflix
for my 'Me' time,
To avoid fake friends and their self centered
conversation,
Except these characters and stories ain't real like people,
To wipe my tears and hug me when em alone,
But
They ain't gonna hurt me either.
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 4:59 PM UTC
I think about you.
I think about you hard.
I didn't like your attitude;
it left my image of you marred.
You were immature,
sometimes a nasty ****
But there’s a thought about you
that’s a real perk:
It might be naughty,
it might be sick,
but I find my thoughts turn pleasant
when I think about your ****
You annoyed me day and night,
and drove me a bit crazy.
There are some things that I remember
that I wish were hazy.
Your voice was whiny,
your habits loathsome.
You smoked and stayed up late;
I'd wish that I was lonesome.
Except for that bit about you--
the key that fit my lock--
it’s what I miss about you.
My dear, it’s just your ****
You talked too much.
You weren’t very bright.
I pretended I was listening
as you rambled on all night.
You didn’t pay the bills.
I mostly cooked the food.
Our stupid arguments
left me in a foul mood.
But even when my thoughts
about you were at their meanest,
I somehow changed my view
when I thought about your *****
There’s no way to separate
you from your biggest asset.
So though you looked like trouble,
in every single facet,
I tolerated much--
more than I’d like to remember--
because of my strange attraction
to your firm and friendly member.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 8:33 PM UTC
In the meanest time of summer
when the sun cracks the pavement
and swelter fills your lungs
a call to the dispossessed is in order.
Consider the river washers,
and the alley dwellers
who are simply thankful for today.
Chew on a bitter piece of perspective
and ask yourself;
if you had to carry a cross to your own death
would you complain about the heat?
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
The deeps of darkness have been raised
As if their being was kindled.
The warm night of peace is at an end.
The devil is he that rages unchecked this night, and there are none to withstand him.
The shield wall breaks, the cavalry routed, and the meanest defence stands alone.
What shall become of these men?
Death surely, for the miracles of poetry give lie to no truth. The curses of old are set in concrete.
Death has gained his presence here. He smells victory. For the living in their mundanity see only their existence.
This existence that means nothing in the tomes of the greater good.
There is no life, only sorrow.
There is no victory, only decimation.
Only the naive think thus.
Victory is not that of arms and steel.
Nor of land or gold or tales of which bards sing
Victory is in the fight that was fought.
For they that wage the good war, and fight the good fight, all is victory.
Defeat is beyond question. Life is not of consequence.
The act alone reigns supreme.
This isn't joy. This isn't glory.
For victory chooses not the last man to stand, but the last to fall in defiance. Victory belongs to the departed. The victorious dead.
And such as it is. It shall end now.
And it's end alone worthy of song .
For all who bear witness to it.
We die, we do not flee.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 2:32 AM UTC
Not snowy seraphs of heaven above
Nor lustrous gems by heaven's stonking wall,
Shall outshine the eternal mark of love
Thou blazoned upon the skin of my soul.
Though midst my wake and dreaming hours I know,
Heaven's meanest pier is of burnished gold,
And celestial shores chatoyant than snow,
But all not as bright as the mark I hold.
For when fickle time in layers of life
Shalt shroud me, and away I must then run
To meet the judge of souls, lest lasting grief
Were my soul's fate, I mean to burn and burn,
The fragrance of thy love could still linger
Freshly upon my soul's fading ember.
*#Decasyllabic
#Iambic pentameter
#Quatrains
#Couplet
#Shakespearean sonnet*
Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Jumeirah, Dubai, 14th.Jan.2018.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC
Damsel in this dress
is a damsel in distress she just using clothes to cover up the post traumatic stress,
but they barely cover anything--
her lady parts at best,
she attracts hood ****** but they barely give her thanks when she gobble up their ***** in her head is regret,
her past is her future so abuse is where she heads-- wears her heart on her sleeve so she empty in her chest
wearing make up just to make up for the confidence she lacks
and I admit I looked back when you walked by in that sun dress
I knew your name around the block bout how you ****** the meanest ****
the greatest *** and I imagined if I knew the words for access words to claim your assets dinner did I have to invest-- from a glance,
and at a simple glance back,
to advance the fact still remain man plans to slay that,
she knows it; the shades on her face tells poem how bright lies jaded minds and money bust her open so who's the poet--
but we judge off her appearance,
and lose our morals,
when she throw it back aren't we daring; but aren't we caring making compliments and swearing,
smearing make up on our ugly truth
conceal,
conceal,
concealer,
you a bad *****
another body is you willing?
but to her its more than *** its the embrace its not the feeling,
her innocence is safest and awakened when she feels it reminded of the time her boyfriend lied, as he took ***
In these predicaments she says its innocent;
he loves me,
that's after broken rib number 5 she says; he loves me,
that's after **** kit the doctor swab;
he says I'm worthy,
that's after black eye number 9;
he says he trust me,
he trust me,
he trust me,
He trust me,
He Trust me,
He Trust Me,
HE TRUST ME,
and he never means to hurt me.
Problem is my novel is too common,
I'll never share his name cause his name is not the problem,
he don't deserve my shine or fortune to be acknowledged:
Ms. ********** control your hatred, stedfast
my mind is changing-- stop judging demons,
Contrast.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
with great power comes great responsibility
but what if you have great responsibility but no power?
Parker had an Uncle Ben
I have a....
a what?
I don't have an Uncle Ben
but Sergeant Willeford said
a responsible man will always be given more responsibility
"What about everyone else?" I asked.
"Where is the great power?"
"Who will help the burden of a responsible man?"
The Silence was the meanest part of the joke
I was thirty when I found out
I could not be
Spider-Man
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
Living with an alcoholic is like
Standing outside during an on-and-off thunderstorm.
You never know when they'll snap,
When they'll take on their meanest form.
We cooked, and laughed, late in the night,
And I walked her to her room
And put a movie on, turned off her light.
"I'm going to get a shower," I said,
Departing into the bathroom.
When I reemerged, hair still wet,
Tension - in the air - loomed.
"You need to treat him better!" she screamed at my brother,
Words echoing throughout the house;
It seems to me that once the lights are doused
And she's left alone with her thoughts,
Well,
That's when aggression is taught.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She wooes the tardy Spring:
Till April starts, and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground,
And lightly o’er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance
The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the skylark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstasy;
And, lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by:
Their raptures now that wildly flow
No yesterday nor morrow know;
’Tis Man alone that joy descries
With forward and reverted eyes.
Smiles on past Misfortune’s brow
Soft Reflection’s hand can trace,
And o’er the cheek of Sorrow throw
A melancholy grace;
While Hope prolongs our happier hour,
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour
And blacken round our weary way,
Gilds with a gleam of distant day.
Still, where rosy Pleasure leads
See a kindred Grief pursue;
Behind the steps that Misery treads
Approaching Comfort view:
The hues of bliss more brightly glow
Chastised by sabler tints of woe,
And blended form, with artful strife,
The strength and harmony of life.
See the wretch that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe and walk again:
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening Paradise.
3.2k
Sam the cat cat cat
He knows where it's at
Got a feather in his hat
But he don't know where his hat is at!
Did he leave it at the flat?
Or at the laundrymat?
O, "woe is me" is where that cat is at.
He's been searching high
(he's a searching kind of guy)
He'll find it by-and-by
No, he won't let that hat matter lie.
Sam is stinking mad.
Best **** hat he's had!
He wants his favorite feathered cat-hat back!
No lie!
(The guy who stole his hat
Is a stinkin' rat)
He'll have to face up to the claws of
Sam the cat cat cat, yeah,
Sam the cat cat cat, mrowl!
Sam the meanest big ol' fat cat
Sam the Cat Cat Cat!
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 10:22 AM UTC
A Cold Affair
She'd been the queen from the moment she was born everybody felt her. She knew it and at some point became sure of it, but nothing lasts forever in the circle of nature all four siblings got their turn and every one of them brought their own drama with them. She was the cruelest of the four because when she came around everything in it's different existence had their mixed reaction towards her. Some animals would hibernate and humans would almost do the same but for them it was a part time thing specially when her moods were up. She would make them feel her every single move they would get cold, change their usuals clothes and trade them for their warmer versions which usually stay stuffed in the deepest parts of their closets. They'd put on scurves, boots, track suits to hand gluves since even their hands would nearly freeze she was one hell of a cold women. As her circle was nearing the finish line on her last run she would become the meanest. To be honest she was never cruel or mearnt to torment, being cold was the only way she knew how to show love and by the cold breeze and a wave of cold fronts it was her only trying to be remembered as another sibling was about to take their turn. She would over express herself and yes she would be felt as it was winters last goodbye.
Swoo
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
Some stand on the corner and seek a donation.
Stating nothing more.
I believe some of the nicest people, are the homeless?
Now, the meanest are?
Mmmm those with negative comments.
Why?
Don't they get a job?
Good point?
Except, those that donate do so from the heart.
And yes, some are hustlers with a job?
But those with cars might not be homeless at all.
We know not their stories and many have a testimonial to encourage another.
But in my heart, I believe the homeless, are some of the nicest people?
Have you been around those judgemental church folks?
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
X
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or ****
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee—in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With conscience of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thine. There’s nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhances Nature’s.
2.8k
we're aboard the bus
me and Gus
me and Gus
we're aboard the bus
we're going to West Avenue
to throw a few punches
in the gym with Stu
we're going to West Avenue
to throw a few punches
in the gym with Stu
Stu is a great puncher
his punches are accurate
his left hook
knocks other dudes
really flat
Stu has them dudes
well ironed out on the mat
Stu has them dudes
well ironed out on the mat
us guys on the rough side of town
have to know how to solidly punch
to knock those gang members down
those gang members
are tough and mean
they are the toughest and meanest
gang members
on the rough side of town
Gus and I
are going to take
those gang members on
take them on
take them on
they aren't going to give
Gus and I
no knock out gong
no knock out gong
Gus and I
will have a retinue of punches
to plant on their noses
they'll be redder
than a bunch of roses
Gus and I
get aboard the bus
to go Stu's gym
we're learning
punching skills
off him
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
When Hagar found the bottle spent
And wept o'er Ishmael,
A message from the Lord was sent
To guide her to a well.
Should not Elijah's cake and cruse
Convince us at this day,
A gracious God will not refuse
Provisions by the way?
His saints and servants shall be fed,
The promise is secure;
"Bread shall be given them," as He said,
"Their water shall be sure."
Repasts far richer they shall prove,
Than all earth's dainties are;
'Tis sweet to taste a Saviour's love,
Though in the meanest fare.
To Jesus then your trouble bring,
Nor murmur at your lot;
While you are poor and He is King,
You shall not be forgot.
2.2k
Your subjects hope, dread Sire—
The crown upon your brows may flourish long,
And that your arm may in your God be strong!
O may your sceptre num’rous nations sway,
And all with love and readiness obey!
But how shall we the British king reward!
Rule thou in peace, our father, and our lord!
Midst the remembrance of thy favours past,
The meanest peasants most admire the last
May George, beloved by all the nations round,
Live with heav’ns choicest constant blessings crown’d!
Great God, direct, and guard him from on high,
And from his head let ev’ry evil fly!
And may each clime with equal gladness see
A monarch’s smile can set his subjects free!
2k
Hey there mother ****** get the **** up out the chair because i know that you're not perfect but i don't really ****** care. Today you gon be perfect - quit cha ******* get to smurkin. Get to lurkin mother ****** you're about to do some hurtin. The meanest ************ looks him right into his eyes when he takes him of his soul and then destroys him of his pride, cause the meanest ************ aint a ***** - he won't go hide, he won't go cry, he'll stick it through, yeah, he'll fight until he's blue. Because the meanest mother ****** got the ***** of ******* steel he doesn't talk he uses fists and thats what shows that he's for real.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 10:02 PM UTC
But it's all crazy, all this neo-fascist **** lately.
I guess populism's got a catchy rhythm,
if your lazy,
then it's so much harder to love me or debate me
than hate me.
Now, let's dispose of this safely: you're racist
because either your daddy was too
or you're manipulated by falsehoods masquerading as news
but it's true, now even I'm getting confused,
but ask, who the **** wins? because you AND the immigrant lose.
This shit's got polemic, pulled by extremist views,
taking the meanest cues,
we contravene abuse, on the daily.
It's all so ****** up lately.
I guess it's so much harder to love me than hate me.
Then, the wicked beat breaks & it all flies apart
leaving my rhyming heart to aim and find it's mark -
it's my one sight of light in the deepest dark
'n' if ya hold to me now, we just need a spark.
The day will come, I'll be called crazy, man,
feeling like I'm William Blake's Grain of Sand,
Eternity in an hour, in the palm of my hand,
I see the white ******* walls in the back of the van.
We'll be nabbed from the streets, it's the master's plan,
'til all that's left is sheep, the rest bottled and canned,
then, they'll sit inside their keep, every gun-post manned,
their delight, so sweet, never to understand:
Heaven in a wildflower or the Endless Night,
a reason to die or a reason to fight.
In their sweet delight they won't see the light,
But in the Endless Night, you & me just might
because each glimmer shines out in the darkest depth,
as Blake writes revenge from the realms of Death,
those protected on high, Nations that sell & buy,
can all be blown out by a baby's breath.
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 11:11 AM UTC
When I push the pedal to the metal theres no limit I **** space...
my movement never constant just can't stay in one place...
So I zoom zoom through the poom poom...
leaving ****** scenes in bedrooms..
given girlies the boom boom...
Explode...As i unload...
round after round clip after clip...
as their bodies shake and twitch lick after lick...
Sounds of *** remind me I'm some ****
And why the **** Im i even sittin here doin this...
With no remorse in my eyes..
I **** em until they die...
pound after pound
clap sound after clap sound...
pelivis agianst *****
we know which is the meanest..
Wit no protection Im at war..
with criminals who only *****
Thier war crimes they get paid for...
then the death toll I get blaimed for..
As i leave them slayin to rest...
Some label me the best...
others just another *** that clucks at all the hens..
Can't read my metaphors that means ***** alot of women...
The reaction is i get a lot of practice so i can be to half bad..
So dont sign up for tryouts get cut then get mad...
because you haven't had the amout of practice i had..
See I know all types of tricks..
lights skin, brown skin, dark skin, i got a whole lot of picks.
The ins and the outs..
when to drive in and when to pull out...
Squirting your insides against my stomach...
you panic..
instantly proclaiming to your maker...
that Iam your ******
the one who drove to fast that your waves decided to crash...
all over me..milking your sweet nector...
as you lay life lessly twitching..the side effects of a killing..
so i place the pedal to the metal i tend to burn rubber...
one hand around the neck of the wheel and the other around my lovers...
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 10:48 AM UTC
Topping a rise comes a knight,
armour soiled and stained;
weary yet elated
riding his black steed.
The Princess in her tower sees
and gives a delighted cry.
She leans out her window
and hails the knight:
"Ho!Brave knight!
Whence comest thou?
Tell me thou seeketh me
for I wait for thee."
"Truly",answered the knight
"It is for thee I am come
my fair lady
and to take thine hand."
"I've sailed the seven seas,
toiled through forests and mires,
traversed deserts and dunes
looking for thee".
"Oh the joy!"whispered the lady
and cried,"My brave knight,
glad am I to hear thee but
Didst thou slay the dragon?"
Answered the knight,
"My dearest lady,
I have fought the giants,
conquered the orcs
and tamed the lions."
"Oh brave art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the mighty dragon?"
"I have escaped from dungeons,
caverns with unnamed fears.
Scorpions and serpents
I have crushed to the earth."
"Wonderful art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the fearsome dragon?"
"I have ridden the behemoth,
subdued the depths,
searched the clouds and
fiddled with thunderbolts"
"Magnificent art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the red dragon?"
"Lady,you are besot
with the dumb worm!",he said.
"I wonder if she",he thought
"has been crazed in that tower"
Sighing forlornly,
said the princess
"I canst not leave here
till the dragon is dead."
As the knight turned away
to ride back,she asked
"Whither goest thou?
To slay the beast?"
"Nay lady,nay
I go to slay the dunce
who wrote you
into that tower."
"What meanest thou
my dear knight?!
There is another knight
who dabbles in magic?!"
"Nay lady,nay.
He is not a knight.
He uses his quill
to weave his musings."
Cried the princess
"Oh mighty sir,
Oh Weaver with the quill!
Canst thou hear me?"
"Yes dear lady,"said I,
"What do you desire?
What can I do
that will please you?"
"My dearest Sir!
Oh my bravest hope.
Slay the dragon
and make me thine."
"But my lady
as much as I desire to,
you should know there is
No dragon in the story"
(Silence pervades)
"Oh my dear knight!!"
cried the lady to the rider,
"Slay this goon
and we shall be one."
Uh-oh...Time to put down the pen and run.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Let’s fall in love again
While we’re asleep
While my hands are wrapped
Around your hips
As I lay my head
On your chest
Let’s fall in love again
While I scream for you
To stop
While we’re holding back
The urge
To pull each other closer
Let’s fall in love again
And this time
We won’t let anyone know
We’ll be by ourselves
We’ll have a world of our own
Let’s fall in love again
And make mistakes
I’ll cry again
And you’ll kiss me hard
I’ll say the meanest words
But yours truly
Will be my heart
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
Gentle ladies, take a while
And choose your mate with lesser style.
Beware the charismatic charm
Of the misogynistic arm.
He’ll ply with love charms, charmingly,
Until he has you all at sea
With this imagined love you’ve found.
He’s swept your feet right off the ground
And carried you away with stars
That twinkle in your laughing eyes.
Yes he can play this game for years
If need be. But slowly he tears
You right away from those you love,
For you to him your love must prove
In every tiny detail now.
And if you can’t then face this row
He’ll find your weakness, badger you
Until your broken health ensue.
His buffets then you can’t oppose
Yet constantly inflicted those
Abuses in the verbal might
Turn physical, and then the fright
Brings on its shame. You will not tell.
Results of that you know full well
Amount to just some more abuse
And then some, coming so obtuse
From left and right. It’s your own fault.
Well so he tells it. You’re the dolt
Who so upset him, made him fire
Assaults at you. Not his desire.
And you believe him. P’rhaps if you
Had not done this or did eschew
That other thing.
You cannot win.
You finally will see this thing
For what it is, and pack and leave.
That’s if there’s some-one who’ll receive
Your brokenness, and take you in
To give you time to heal again.
‘But he’s so nice’, they say in town.
“We can’t imagine him knocking you down.”
He tells them how you selfishly
Took off with children. You must be
The meanest woman round this place.
He’ll find someone to take your place.
He must have someone on his arm
Whose looks are sweet and full of charm,
Who’ll do the work he needs her to.
What else is there for him to do?
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC