"sheepish" poems
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
*that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows the when and why of differing
cuddling styles...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows when to leave a man alone
alone in his man-mourning time,
distance needed,
letting his ex-rage dissipate or
watching his red and blue football
redefine ignominy...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when the man low whistles, eyes adrift,
she heartily agrees and is
reciprocity rewarded regularly
with hunk alerts of
"hey-check-him-out!"
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
a tigress in the bedroom
she asking, try this, I'll love it,
served with a desert demo of awkward afterward,
his less-than-perfect cuddling abilities
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who doesn't abhor partner silences,
comforting they are, in their own ways,
lying side by side, interrupted only by peccadillo body noises unexpected and
sheepish apologies and loving arm stroking
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who lets the man roar, top of voice,
when imprisoned in car,
his voice, un enfant terrible,
performs with Creedence Clearwater
a sing-a-long in traffic, asking
"Have you ever seen the rain"
while amidst Israel-leaving-Egypt
Sunday beach traffic on the L.I.E.
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
when it's pheromones alternative mode day,
he celebrates Carole King day,
she demonstrates her cuddling abilities,
par excellence, with kisses and tissues
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
a woman, plain confident in her abilities
no matter the situational status,
when confronted by
less-than-crazy-impetuous,
she smiling says "why not,"
when he proposes,
a movie and dinner in a fav haunt?
"plenty excellent enough" her answer,
spoke in a rising voice
full of unfeigned delight
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
accepting the unexpected airport embrace
on a moving sidewalk, unexpected delays
with the aplomb of a well lived life's
long term sustainability perspective
when he kisses her hand for no reason,
while driving 75 miles per hour,
she only winces internally,
the other hand vise-grasping
the other door's handle,
who brushes hair wisps in a dark movie,
celebrating her Bathsheba Everdeen's
duality of strength and tenderness
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when on second date he proposes
a non-exclusive relationship,
confident enough to high-five respond,
and laugh about it,
seven years on
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when she reads it,
analyzing the oeuvre as
"too **** personal and
as usual
too **** long"*
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her
cuddling abilities
in everything...
even a little occasional criticism
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
I'm 5'7"
Medium length brown hair
I let my bangs grow to where their half way down my chest (I use them to hide a lot)
Age 17
Birthday April 15(yeah I'll have fun with taxes. :P)
My toe nails are ALWAYS painted black, and keep changing the color of my finger nails (I bite them too short to care anyway)
I'm proud to say I have a wide chest/wide shoulders (I won't say bra size, just cause guys will be able to read this. :/)
I jam out to whatever music I'm listening to
Don't give a **** what people think of me
(just want to be loved truly, cause that's what I have and always will do)
I'm over 200lbs (which is mostly muscle from wrestling with my cousins. :) )
I have fun in more physical activities (ps Apparently, most guys don't like a girl that challenges them to an arm wrestling match. The guys didn't take up my challenge :P)
I'm different compared to most girls that I've come to know
Also, a lot of girls became afraid of me(some girls that hated me for some reason or other threw rocks at my head. I thought they had been throwing paper, I became sheepish at the moment I realized that they WERE rocks and I'm still literally hard headed to this day. I can't feel when anything hits my head :P :/)
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
Dough making
with flour and water
Salt and butter
Calls for kneading
In ritualistic candor
As parts come together
To an irreversible matter
The soft cushion of dough
between the palm and the bowl
pliable with every push and shove
stretched and compressed
In sheepish conformity
Blistered on skillet
Puffed up to a chapati
Heavens thanked with each bite
For flat bread with savory curry
Fills nostrils with soft aromas-
Relished as heaven on tongue-
One is contented of this flat bread
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
I let you go
to Philadelphia
I let you go
thirteen goin' on “life”
to your momma-- (God rest her-- and keep you
--from wherever she is)
to your father in Philly
outa the picture
Sheepish in the doorway of my classroom
back again
one last time--
Say good-bye, kid, to your short stay in Scranton
a town that can't rhyme
whose name falls over its own misery
No use for outsiders
“Where's your book?
Found your binder in the rain
Soggy protest to school's demands?
Of course it's yours
I checked, ya know”
"No way!"
Desk's been empty, three weeks now
Still, gotta ask
“Whacha doin?
Where ya been?”
“Khmir,
I'm sorry for your loss....”
Thirty seconds shares our grief
Thirty seconds for your future's-- all I got
“Listen to your teachers!
Do your work!
Please-- be okay?”
Khmir
in your wooly black coat-- like a bear
like a dare
shruggin and dancin in the doorway
of the “show”
Homework? Aint happenin'
But one paper, though
on why--
YOU-- should be president
and I almost vote for you
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
She tried,
Lying,
To my face.
When I told her,
Not to miss me,
She wouldn’t is what she said.
Unbeknownst to her,
She didn’t realize,
Her lie.
I went close,
Pulled up her chin,
And, told her,
She’d lied.
Then, came the query,
How I knew?
Her eyes,
I told,
Always,
Would give away the truth.
She then tried hiding,
Her shy and sheepish smile,
I came closer,
Pulled up her chin again,
And, told her,
I knew all along,
About this,
And, all her other lies,
She told me.
With the exception of one,
That being,
The inevitable truth,
Which she never tried,
To hide.
That truth being,
She loved me more,
Than, I’ve ever been loved,
And, our love,
Unlike any,
Would continue,
For lifetime a many.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
The beauty in a bow will only show
the rancid flavor it musters when it opens it's throat .
With bland intentions of subjects but loud quirks , its grey eyes will shower you with gloat.
Sheepish , arched lips will saunter you a hiss.
Your pupils get lighter and the lies get higher.
Fond of their beauty in substance of looks , only will you find the meaning in books.
Will you rattle a smile on a hook when your success won battle with your humble good looks.
The vain that slithers out of your mouth wont be a match for whats out and about.
Check again looks don't overcome meaning but meaning overcomes gleaming .
So give me a higher reason for not being to dreamy?
Self-centered, no i remember , it's not the center in my last November.
Last time i checked the cab looked its best on the exterior and on the inside lacked of a barrier.
Now look again at the vain heart , covered with smudges and a bland start.
Look in deeper all you talked was about you, i checked again and please don't lie and tell me it isn't true.
i'm insane and you are too , if one is narcissistic then baby its you.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
If I give you love
what will I get in return?
will it be acknowledged?
or will it be but spurned?
If I offer my love
will you be mine forever?
or will you laugh at me
and say to me - not ever.
Am I just a fool in love?
head over heels and blind?
silly and sheepish, blushing
not knowing what's in my mind?
I stand on the steps of happiness
worried, lest I fall
falling at your feet
all curled up in a ball.
Columbus took a chance
and by God - he did all right
I cannot leave you now
without putting up a fight.
I smiled and said I love you
my voice began to crack
but your eyes lit up I swear
as you smiled at me right back!
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 10:14 PM UTC
Dear boy on the bus
You had to sit beside me, today of all days
My hair a mess
Bundled up in a black winter jacket
Acne and tired eyes
It had to be today of all days, didn't it
Dear boy on the bus,
From my peripheral vision I saw a golden mop of hair, which I find to be attractive on the male species
I’d call you an angel, but I don’t even know if you were attractive
I’d glance over at you from time to time, only because I was afraid you’d notice
Dear boy on the bus,
I don’t know whether or not to call you a boy or a man,
Because at this age, we’re younger than we look but older than we feel
Dear boy on the bus,
they say age is just a number, but it’s also just a word,
But I’d feel weird if you were younger than me all the same
Dear boy on the bus,
Do you realize how loud your music was playing? Apparently not, since it lulled you to sleep
Even if it was a few decibels lower, heavy metal isn't what comes to mind when I think of ‘lullabies’
I stole glances at you and your sleeping face, praying slightly that the bus would do a wide enough turn so that your head would sort of rest against my shoulder, even though I’m a lot shorter than you
Dear boy on the bus,
You could sit anywhere else after a few stops. I might have been a little hurt if you moved, but it’s normal.
So why didn't you?
Dear boy on the bus,
With bags on my lap, I felt closed in: I was too afraid to move, too afraid to touch you—I felt my arm brush against your sweater through my jacket and my stomach did somersaults
It’s not that I didn't want to touch you, but I didn't want sparks to be sent through my body—my mind was already going wild with the many scenarios playing in my head as we sat there.
Dear boy on the bus,
My heart was shivering as my stop got closer
I didn't want to leave before you did
I imagined you didn't want me to leave either
Dear boy on the bus,
I was thinking of pulling out my phone to text a friend about you, but I was afraid you’d notice.
I was thinking of pulling out my phone to write about you—would you think me a poet? Or a creep?
Dear boy on the bus,
I wish you said something
Dear boy on the bus,
I wish I said something
Dear boy on the bus,
When my stop came and we awkwardly got up, I wonder if you thought my sheepish smile meant something, or anything at all.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
On that bright day his mind was unusually calm
He stopped by the beggar to offer him some alms
Feeling at peace with himself without a trace of qualm
He took a deep breath, with life he was coming to term.
Goodness he pondered was quite an achievable feat
A small spark that made him offer the old man a seat
Each familiar face he smiled at such easy was to greet
Inside him he grew healthier being good was great benefit.
Why men suffer jealousy fight for one-upmanship
Instead of trading for goodness most precious human keep
Just not burn to earn his food comfort and restful sleep
But live in shining goodness make life a rewarding trip.
Being good with one’s own kind he felt wouldn’t do
Other lives around him must kindly be treated too
A crumb of bread for the street dog on its head a little pat
Pints of milk and a little care for the weak and ailing cat.
As he walked the road thoughts like these lighted up his face
He found waiting on wayside many things begging goodness
Determined he would reach them all do them a little good
He sprinted along in a sprightly gait his mind in deep brood.
Back home when she opened the door he gave her a broad smile
She glowered a little askance for he hadn’t done it a while
*What brings you this sheepish smile what for the elation?
Don’t even think you can ever make on me a good impression!*
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
there she stands in a skirt and heels
pretty little wallflower
a sheepish grin and a request
he smiles his twisted smile
and winks "no problem"
and they walk and they talk and
hours pass
happy little wallflower
she says excuse me but
he knows her too well already
her quietest struggle revealed
no choice but to trust
silly little wallflower
days pass and they're together
deeper and deeper she falls
one night she panics and he turns away
more days pass without a word
a passive moment, now her life
simply passes by
stupid little wallflower
she sees him with other girls
he doesn't stop to think
and weeks have gone
she's almost moved on
another man approaches
fickle little wallflower
sweet manners, kind gestures, he's
genuine, friendly, she wouldn't mind
giving it a try so she goes to visit
and the first is there
pleading "stay with me"
pitiful little wallflower
her foolishness her downfall
she recedes from each
the wallflower all again
minutes pass and she finds herself alone
with him a curtain's breadth from humanity
heedless little wallflower
he calls to her, she stays reserved
he calls again and she has no hope. she is his
they lie together, she is only content
even knowing it can never last
pathetic little wallflower
every moment put to memory
he walks away without a goodbye
and still she smiles
her pretty little wallflower smile
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 12:15 AM UTC
Every day the cards were played
Everyday you lost
I won.
Every day you’d come back
With declarations of future success,
And when proved false you’d smile,
All lopsided and sheepish,
With a “next time perhaps”
And now your gone.
And next time won’t come.
I guess I won after all.
You always said
I was a queen of diamonds
But my dear,
You were the Ace of hearts.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 2:42 AM UTC
I could write an entire poem
about the way it felt like a million honeybees buzzing around my insides when you'd grab my arm as I walked past you
and how it felt like each and every one of them stung me when you stopped noticing when I walked past you
or about how I felt like I could talk to you forever when we sat in that coffee shop for the first time
and how I learned that there's no such thing as forever when I found out that it would also be the last time
And I could write a billion stanza's
about how I can understand Darwin's theory of evolution, and why you should never fight the current if you're drowning, and why the moon seems like it's following you on car rides
but could never understand why you loved that girl for 2 years when she stole every bit of your innocence and everything that made you whole
And I could probably make a long list
of different words that describe how you look on a Monday morning
like tired
and sheepish
and unamused with the slow pace of traffic
Or write a novel
on why you stopped wearing your seatbelt the day your mother stopped wearing her wedding ring
But I suppose
that all I'd really be trying to say
is that I miss you
and that I still feel the stingers of the honeybees stuck in my skin.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
Juliet said to Romeo
‘I don’t like your hair!’
And Romeo said to Juliet
‘Well I don’t really care!’
Then Juliet said to Romeo
‘Don’t talk to me like that!’
And Romeo said to Juliet
‘Sorry baby J, I’ll buy myself a hat!’
Juliet smiled all sweetly
‘That would be a start’
Romeo replied to Juliet
‘You have evil in your heart!’
Juliet gave him a scowl
‘You know that isn’t true!’
Romeo looked all sheepish
‘I know thats not true too’
Juliet kissed his cheek
‘Your a dream, that’s what you are’
Romeo went red faced
‘I’m embarrassed, my little star’
Juliet gave him a hug
‘You’ll definitely do for me’
Romeo squeezed her all lovingly
‘Make us a cup of tea’
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 11, 2020 at 8:58 PM UTC
dinner Greenport-side, watching the shuffling ferries do
their sworn duty, a back ‘n forth wearisome toll,
while we sip a rose and a PBR, respectively and with respect
no enthusiasm afterward for anything but an early off to bed,
and slip into pj’s asap
me in my knackered wholly Hanes fundie knickers,
no thinking required
but she
retires, re-attires in a summery combo,
a gray sweat t-shirt and green and white
plaid pj pants
which she is unawares are my favorites
cause they lop off fifty years,
a teenage woman re-incarnate recreated
cause her figure now womanly full,
better than then
morning awake l, a disturbance of the peace,
recall a snuggling a wake up hug,
and her bottoms conspicuously
gone missing
over break fast I inquire
over yogurt and berries and a
smoked mozzarella omelette,
what happened to those plaid bottoms?
assuming I was innocent of any transgressions
as best I could recall
with a sheepish childlike grin,
that made look like she was twenty again,
to match the now yoga toned body,
she confesses:
forgot to tie the bowstrings
and they slipped down to my ankles
blessed and cursed I thought!
too much of a gentleman to take advantage,
AND my situational awareness was slipping badly,
but when a poem comes across,
ready and pre-writ,
I’m still young enough to grab aholt of it
and never let go
6/23/18
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 2:42 PM UTC
there are no sheep.
just wolves with
sheepish tendencies,
each boasting the
ability to bite.
-
rust falls in
dusty flakes
only to make
room for new.
paint chips.
wilted petals.
baby teeth.
expelled
replaced
by something
bigger and better.
when there's
only room for
the one of 'em.
a mushroom doesn't grow
on top of another mushroom
but next to it.
quiet now.
just the cold caress
of the breeze left.
no more salty
sweat or tears.
rustfree, scratchproof.
temporarily titanium.
until
an agonizing internal groan
like industrial sabotage
of factory machinery.
gears grind and steam moans.
everything jerks to a halt.
the mechanic is a cannibal.
they're all bloodsuckers really.
no noble stairs around here anymore.
just elevators, that only lift you up
when they get to come along.
not like stairs at all.
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 5:38 AM UTC
all the lapses in time
mix like melted crayons
i'm tired and wish that they could stay on
my skin, but they drip down and in
to a puddle at my feet
the moments that drip, slip away
are the ones that i wish that i could keep
but they melt, mix and make
a puddle so deep
i should step in
i'd be delighted to sink
take turns to tip back and taste each one like a drink
splash, spill each one over my skin
make each a mess for memory's sake
turn, tilt, and take time to
clothe my self in all the caressing colors
like a motley collage
of rainbows turned chameleon camouflage
i'll hide in the folds of these memoreies
for earth's forever
fly where they take me
daydreaming while waking
splash in a puddle comprised of the past
pbpbpbpbpbpbp play in a puddle of
paint like
late night
rain puddle baptisms
and fake rage spasms
and faces so cute it's hard to look at em
money could buy happiness if
someone bottled and sold the sunlight that we napped in
on the sidewalk
the opposite appearance but the same substance
as our late night...not dates...adventures...and deep talks
the early Tuesday morning
walks and discovering
our very own piece of paradise
complete with waterfall
the overall romance
like an always sheepish glance filled swing dance
the innocence...
the spontaneity and
"do-it-you-won't-i-wouldn't-even-be-mad" spring break trips
taco bell and heathens and sheathens, HELL!!! comments
fresh beginnings and new starts
curious minds and ravenous hearts
lakes that look like bits of Scotland
and arms with seals also on hearts
(ar ar ar)
memories like melted crayons in a puddle at my feet
he will take the memories that i can't shake
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
Into his plastic lunchbox
He did, an Orange and biscuit, shove
And said the biscuit to the orange
“Come sit by me, my love”
And the orange, taken by surprise
Gave him a sheepish grin
And flashed her pips and dimples
So he knew they might begin
She was smooth and round and juicy
He was crunchy, brown and fat
She introduced herself as Lucy,
And he said his name was Zak
And throughout the sunny morning
They did laugh and love and tease
When suddenly with no warning
Their lives were torn apart with ease
The sky ripped from their little world
Their peccadilloes for all to view
First Zak, then Lucy disappeared
With a bite, a crunch, a chew.
So dear reader, please take heed
Don’t shy away from love
For we never really know quite when
It’s lunchtime up above.
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 5:11 PM UTC
They profit on your silence, and foster insanity
To reef your identity, and fade you to normality
Control is an abortion of instinctual fundamentality
They blind us with a bleach of hypocrisy to fade us to their normality
Gather once in number, to support the dismantling
Fate of compassionate and empathetic rationality, is threatened by a lie of social justice in pronouns and prejudice
This is an infection of our political mentality,
to allow other views to be heard only if they align within sheepish bounds of radicality
******* Ideology. What insanity
Can’t let it fester, or our dignity will be the fatality
Disgusting to muzzle those who believe differently
As long as it’s not hate, preach what you practice
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 2:29 PM UTC
Fifty-percent illusion at any given time.
Your unintended muse will plead 'not guilty' to the crime
Of snatching back the quill and reshaping every line
into the role she wished to play
-- it seems the choice was never mine --
but the boy with the weighted wedding ring,
the self-appointed jury of the south;
him sheepish at the door with roses,
and the brute who owns this house.
Was it feminine mystique or was I crystal clear
while you blocked your ears and pretended not to hear?
A three-act structured tragedy.
All archetypes assigned.
"We've had this date since the beginning" --
if the part must be mine to play,
it is in my hands to manipulate.
Direct your blame to those who cast the roles.
Torn petticoat, blue piano;
flattered by the dimming glow --
oh, to be glossy pink and gold!
A trophy bride. A victor's prize.
(I snap awake and still see his eyes --
that ego swells him thrice my size --
with bruising force, he parts my thighs.)
Was it hysteria - madness? - or was I crystal clear
while you blocked your ears and pretended not to hear?
My fate was written for me,
in the frontal lobes of those who came before me:
down that narrative route, all bumps and troughs -- desire!
Fragments of an old Rossetti poem... o, vanity of vanities... the streetcar rattles and groans.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
it's in the appreciation of a fantastic tater tot
and a shared laugh after a missed rebound in trash can basketball.
it's in risk and fear and a crazy heart
in late night car rides and "I'm not letting go"
it's at Waffle House at 6AM on a Sunday
in the sheepish grins and sweetly sticky countertop.
it's in the raise of an eyebrow, a wink, a nod
in attention to detail. listening. feeling.
it's in perfect confessions (if shared)
and in a drive thru drink (but only if it tastes right)
it's in the smallest of gestures that mean "I'm sorry"
and the nod that says "you are forgiven"
it's in a car (blue, not black) with a broken console
and in the joyous laughter over squeaky leather seats.
it's in feeling different and wild and passionate
but in soft affection and the summer breeze.
it's in August, in between my toes like sand
natural, messy, persistent
but wonderful all the same.
he holds it for me.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
In an apartment on 53rd street
A fire is burning
Out of a keyhole &
Into a cigarette.
Smoke comes in walls
& is heavier than rocks
& it takes an artist
To hate oneself.
Moon-faced Serbians sipped
Drain-O from sandals
While red-lipped nomads
Gazed & sharpened their blades.
A fat lady walks in &
Before she can say
“Burger & fries”
There are spears in her ears.
The body is dragged to the
River by sheepish failures, but
The boxer knew what was afoot &
Had removed all the water from the river.
But no-one cared because a riot had
Started in the streets
“Flay the feminazis,” they chanted
“Pour molten oil on the devout,” they screamed.
& all the flat-eyed artists
& all the drag-queen mobsters
Danced around the fire like evolution
& an ape got in the middle of it.
His fingertips calloused
His elbows like spears
His eyes w/ more blood
Than white.
Richard Nixon or
A Richard Nixon costume
Entered stage right w/
Boxing gloves & cocktails.
They would throw children
Across the fire
& artists on the other side would be
Waiting w/ nets & knives.
But then tear gas came
& they cried & their
Tears were like the eyes that
Glinted at them.
Out of a keyhole &
Into a cigarette.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
you hold my heart in your hand,
it is safe there, in sunshine land.
my mind often wanders,
to you it must go....
no other vision but of thee,
closest to my heart it must be
you hold my heart from day to night,
from sunset to the first sunlight...
my world has become a wondrous adventure,
*"a magic carpet ride, over, sideways and under,
Indescribable feelings,
Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling" ........:)*
you have me quoting lines from movies....
ahh i must be in love.....abash.....sheepish....how groovy
I love you my redhead, blue eyed ladybelle
well that you must know.....
in your hands, my heart's aglow
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 3:58 AM UTC
Ingrid sports a black eye;
she looks like a panda.
She said she walked
into a door;
she doesn't lie
convincingly.
I know her old man;
I passed him
on the stairs of the flats;
his beady eyes
drinking me in,
giving me the cold glare,
the cold shoulder.
We walk through the Square,
off to the shops.
What happened to your eye?
I ask again,
studying the black
and slightly green;
walking beside her,
passing the milkman
and his horse drawn cart,
the horse wearing
a nosebag of food,
ignoring us.
I walked into
the bedroom door,
she says,
knowing I don't
believe her,
looking sheepish,
knowing
I guess the truth.
What have you got
to get at the shops?
I ask.
She shows me a list
on a scrap of paper,
pencil scribbled,
in her small right hand
a handful of coins.
I passed your old man
on the stairs yesterday,
I tell her,
gave him my
Wyatt Earp stare,
I say, he didn't care.
I note her hair
is unbrushed,
her green patterned dress
unwashed.
We cross Rockingham Street
into Harper Road.
I talked too much,
Dad said,
she confesses,
he said I yak and yak.
We pass the paper shop
and go on
to the grocer shop.
I say,
if I had your old man
in the sights
of my six-shooter gun
I'd fire a cap
up his ***
she sniggers;
people stare at us
as we pass.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
I'm at my best
When i'm surrounded with people who love and respect me
When i never asked for such an honor
But i thank God every day for this to be granted to me
It's like i'm being knighted by the Queen of England daily
And i hold that same sheepish smile inside every time
But it's a signature of who i am
I'm so proud of the things I've done right
Because those words that tell me the opposite like to swim around my ears like a fairy who turned to the dark side
And has been engulfed with hate and bitterness
I'm putting an end to the lack of oxygen
And allowing the world to breath again.
Because some people are losing oxygen and things they think they deserve.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC