"tediously" poems
Wild strawberries
Tediously small,
Hiding among the tall pink flowers
And shy butterflies,
Wink and flash sweet 'eat me' red
Under dappled flower shadows,
They burst on your tongue
Tasting like sunshine and honey lemon
Washing like a cool blue lake
In muggy air,
Leaving childish joy
And baby smiles
Then the memory of sweetness to linger,
Until you paw through the hot leaves
And tall pink flowers
And find another, tediously small,
And hold it in your eager fingers
Soft, and brighter than rubies
With juice fresh and sweet
Running down your chin and your
Scarlet fingers
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I’m still making
From her life that now I’m grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes, bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As Depression stole her ev’ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I’m now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving*
*In honor of my mother, Edla Sylvia Fitzpatrick, on this International Women's Day
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
The leopard and the lion chose to become friends,
For they were all proud of claws on their paws
They each glorified one another for their mighty,
Ability to live on meat of other fauna throughout a year,
They each admired one another for running speed,
They each remained firm and loyal to one rule;
Lions don’t eat leopards neither leopards eat lions.
They felt warmth in their companionship without verve,
Until the time they initiated a certain joint venture;
To hunt an antelope as it was famed to be the sweetest,
Again, there had remained one antelope only in the world,
They dilly and not dallied anyhow about such glittering project,
They both endevoured to set forth by each dawn for a whole year,
Tediously hunting throughout a day, the lion doing a great part,
Setting ambuscades and arduously sleuthing to orient on trail,
The leopard severally fainted in the field due to exhaustion,
On one eve of christmas day, the lion captured the prey,
When the leopard was a sleep shivering in fevers of malaria,
Their prey was a middle aged female antelope with swollen hips.
The leopard was sparked to fire of life by a mysterious fillip,
He boldly requested work, now to help the lion in carrying,
The un-suspecting lion relinquished the carcass to the leopard,
Feat of shrewdness gripped the leopard, he took off
Running away with a lightening speed, the antelope on his mouth,
The lion again began to chase, shouting to the leopard,
To be a gentleman and stop running, for them to share the plunder,
The leopard never listened, he craftily climbed to the apex,
Of the most tall and most slippery tree, he perched at the peak
With the antelope on his muscular mandibles of voracity,
The lion remained at the stem, wailing like a toddler
His family does not climb trees, not even a shrub,
The lion wailed, using all styles of wailing,
Pleading with the leopard to donate even an iota,
Not even a small piece of antelope bone dropped
To drop on the ground for the lion to taste,
Human leopards are not good hunting companions.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
potion lost by unknown souls
effervescent masturbatory master debater
creationism is masochism told from the horses ***
past blast take my soul
make me whole and complete
separation anxiety is ***** envy
memories of mental memos crash past rushing fools
used and abused on cruise control
I misjudged your guided thistle
because missiles are meant for drones not home-oh
listen to the seedless man cry for his dead *****
tediously miserable always unforgiven
what lies hidden within the door
could be a deserted desert dessert
like an after dinner breath mint
or a succinct lunatic on the brink of such destruction
may be distraction fight or flight action reaction
marilyn charles though more bronson than you
Aren’t thou marked for death
broken gasp choked sob
undergod slaughtered in an abandoned euthanasia clinic
euphimistic innuendo more like in your endo
indoor marijuana smoke makes the colors run
my american flag has flown and fled
please jesus save our country bumpkins
napkins go in the lap not as hat
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I'm still making
From her life that now I'm grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As depression stole her ev'ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I'm now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Untrodden silver cesspool,
Darkened by bombshell blast,
Riding in weathered abyss,
Covered with killer cannon fodders past.
Black battle went into starstruck night,
All started to fall, but not all fast,
Over tricky time they all did fight,
With wind guiding bloodstained mast.
Lovers light broke with rising sun,
Gleefully gallivanting through hours passed,
Tediously tiptoeing with hopes to run,
Over red salty sea made infinitely vast.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
The innocent pig! Slaughtered in the blood stained room.
The man stands over the corpse and laughs.
Slowly
he peels the skin off the pig,
scolding the dead for pig her small imperfections.
For some game, that needs fresh skin.
The surface of her body and soul, in
a grey factory fit over a mold by a
person who has delt with tens of thousands
of innocent pigs and can only see the skin.
A conveyor belt takes thousands of animals,
whose only fault was being too heavy, into a drying room.
The pigs not animals but objects now, slaughtered
for entertainment.
The “vegetarian” football player takes
the skin of the poor mama pig and chucks it to his friend.
The misguided soul! Taught tediously to truly think that
the typical time of the gentle piglet far better spent dead
than to live a hellish life, nor will this soul know the
pig is both dead and lived a hellish life.
A hole in the pigs skin and hollow air rushes free.
Punted away into the woods.
Again and again.
The game starts.
The chubby guys line up and smell each others breath,
both sides scream like monsters and charge at each other,
they don’t punch each other, so it’s civilized.
The skinny guys also line up next to each other,
trying to outrun the other guy, yeah
I say guy because society is sexist but moving on,
so they try to outrun each other, one guy in an attempt
to not allow the person to catch the thin layer of pig skin.
The guy running forward tries to get the quarterback (basically
the star of the team the guy with dreamy hair and a nice body
who is either a cool guy or a ****
to toss him the hollowed out pig skin, so can run and look cool
until another “light” 180 pound guy tackles him to the ground.
The stands, all criminson red, go wild,
Fist bumping, jumping up and down, beer drowning the floor,
at the sight of the guy with the dreamy body
tossing the misshaped ball,
to the guy who just hand the wind
smashed
out of him.
Yes this is all football.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
Sitting on a bench just off the
Liberty Trail in Boston, waiting as
the rest of my family made a restroom stop.
An old man with a thick, greyish
beard and heavy eyelids
took a seat next to me.
His ***** white hair caught
a cotton seed sailing through the air.
The bag of tobacco in his hand
was wide open, and he
pulled a roll of Zig-Zags
out of his pocket—he tore
the paper about six inches long
and proceeded to
roll a cigarette. His fingers,
bent and forlorn,
worked tediously as a
diamond cutter’s.
He lit the cigarette, let out a ring of smoke,
and introduced himself as
Lenny. I told him my name
and we talked for a few minutes.
"What brings you to Boston
young fella?" he said
in his aged Boston accent.
"Family vacation--personally, I'm
interested in all the history of the town."
By now his cigarette is
half-burnt, and my family is
ready to continue on the trail.
Lenny turned to me with
a low look in his eyes,
but he cracked a smile.
He had a couple teeth missing
Before I got up he said to me,
“When I want to sit and think,
a cigarette isn’t long enough
to burn through my thoughts,
but a conversation with a
stranger every day
is what keeps my mind
from running away in smoke.”
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
I sat by the window side at the bus
And ate some chocolate cake with gusto
Headaches from last night's partying
And suddenly I dozed off while eating
How strange...
Someone tapped me on the shoulder
I ****** and opened up my eyes
And saw you with your gentle smile
My face with smudges of chocolate
How embarrassing...
You asked if the seat beside me was vacant
I nodded unable to speak for shame and fear
Of opening my mouth full with chocolate cake
Too conscious how my teeth would look like
How pathetic...
Side by side, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder
Instantly felt the warmth of your smooth skin
You glanced at me and smiled again very slowly
My cheeks were blushing of my indecent thoughts
How pitiful...
You asked softly if where my destination was
I answered politely afraid of looking directly
Too distracted by the musky scent you have in you
I wanted to ask what perfume you were wearing
How awkward...
The journey was tediously long and I had hangover
We sat there for five hours in companionable silence
But my insides were screaming with excitement
By your mere presence, I felt I was safe and sound
How weird...
"Excuse me sir, may I pass?" I nudged you respectfully
Your eyes widened a little bit and nodded in silence
I got off the bus and stared as it continued on the road
Regretted that I never even dared to ask for your name
How hopeless...
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
Carnival carvings seep into your tombstone.
And from the ceiling, we hanging, in red
and black striped pajamas watched you
get lowered.
The jesters
cartwheel in my laugh,
they travel and trial, tediously tar, and rat aches
in to my tartar.
I weep for the wayward west, that
(you never explicitly promised) we were to visit.
I've seemed to begun, helter-skelter a few;
steam trombones
There
are no masonry aemons.
Of ghouls gnaws only poetry,
awaiting our reunion, my dearest Laika-
forever deceased.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 8:16 PM UTC
your hands
tediously twist
and pull
the rubix cube
not to impress
others
with your
speed of completion
but for your own
satisfaction
it will sit on your side table
for years
the mountain
you will never climb
before
your older brother
gave it to you
he rearranged
the stickers
an impossible puzzle
his prank
forgotten by him
amongst hundreds of others
your arms
scrub painstakingly
to wash away the
dark stain
on your
kitchen floor
which never fails
to catch your gaze
it has become
your routine
to spend an hour
every Sunday
cleaning
the persistent spot
curse it's existence
imagine life
without it
even though
it has become
a safety net for you
the only thing
you can count on
being there for you
when you arrive home
still,
your efforts
never cease
you will never discover
it was a fault
of the painters
a careless flaw
ignored
as they completed
the top coat
it does not matter
how much I try
to heal this
loneliness
or how many
different ways
I try to fill my
emptiness-
it is a bottomless
hole
swallows
everything thrown in
the hunger
is never satisfied
I do not think
it will ever
be full
do not think
I am able to feel whole
but
that doesn't stop me
from trying
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
I write this not from a lofty place of judgement or from frantic paranoia, but instead I would much rather you learn from any and all of my mistakes before subjecting yourself to future pain.
First and most importantly: you are lovable, you are loved, and you are truly worthy of love and appreciation. This is a resolute fact, an immutable truth that you have absolutely no chance of changing. Remember this in your darkest moments- just because you may feel “less than” your normal self does not mean that you have lost your self worth. If you learn anything from me, please let this one thing be it.
Second, and more lengthy: as well-adjusted as I may come off, know that I have these horrid insecurities and vices about me that I have the hardest time shaking off, even on my best days. I have spent most of my life wondering if I would ever find love, because people keep telling me that you need to first love yourself in order to love someone else; there have been days where I truly don’t love myself. However, I think there’s something to be said about feeling love for someone else amidst all of this wretchedness- I give my love unabashedly, with an earnest conviction that I think comes from knowing what feeling lonely truly means, and never wishing that feeling upon someone else.
Love is something I have fallen into and am currently falling out of, it is something that has kept me up for hours at night but kept me in bed long after the sun has risen; it has brought me to my knees and it once had lifted me up. Love has grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, looked me dead in the eyes, and asked me if I was worth anything- knowing that I would never answer affirmatively. Love has made me sing and scream the loudest my lungs could possibly take, and it has rendered me silent for days at a time. It has fogged my vision and my mind and left me bereft of any sense of clarity. I have lived my longest seconds and my shortest days when in love.
Loving someone can truly be terrifying- you will never be quite so unmade and disassembled as you are when in love. You will have handed someone the pieces of yourself and know that they could very easily unravel the threads of your being you have so tediously strung together; take comfort in the fact that they could very well hold your pieces together when you feel strung out.
*Signed without wax,
Someone Whose Heart
Is Learning To Hope Again*
P.S. I urge you to be careful, and to be safe. There is not a world in which you can have done something and I will not be there to support you unconditionally. I will be here in your corner, ready to listen to your story, ready to congratulate or to console, ready to remind you of your worth.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 1:57 AM UTC
The relentless sea attempting to come closer,
The sands tediously taking it all deeper,
The gusty Arabian winds downed by the ghats,
Resulting in an endless rain and light spat.
I ride with sea to my left, hills to my right,
Constant hide and seek plays the sun,
I see him by day fall, outlining the waters.
Its a spectacle to watch Oliver Ridleys ashore,
A struggle to live, hope we see them more,
So much to see, sure you'll be in wonder,
What's to sit at home, go out and wander,
The rhythmic sound of the century old beast,
Chase yourself away, this you can do at least,
Remember to get lost before you can be found.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
If I had a mix tape
It would be thirty one hours long
Get the cassettes ready
Poetry was something I chose and we're going steady
Sometimes I draw details out tediously but sometimes I like to get with the program already
They say Rap is Poetry
But I didn't compare my work to the McDonalds bathroom floors
The disrespect towards women, money and drugs
It's a dog but it's not as cute as a Pug
Someone end this concert, pull the plug
We used to have a standard and kept it snug
But even the Snails are laughing
We're too slow to realize
That were accepting bile with our eyes
And we're encouraging it
Why?
I have a mixtape
But I'm no legend
But neither are they
I just hope my influence is here to stay
Because as the clock arm sways
I get older another day
And I want to be sincere in a way
That will dramatically improve your day
I hope you feel the warmth of my heart hotter than May
Because it burns for you
And we don't need to pull out the other thirty mixtapes because I only need one
Let the repugnant trends come undone
I'm a song that's been left unsung
But that's okay
Because I want you to sing it
It will be more resplendent than the harmony of the Mockingbirds
And it tunes out the geese
That make me act the opposite of PeeWee Reese
And pull out a shotgun
Ernset Hemingway was relatable in that way
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
It seems to have spontaneously combusted, but it didn’t. The disease struck long ago, brewed in the petri dish of Depression, WWII, and convergent technologies. Well before that, really, but that was the point of critical mass. By the 1950's, it was an epidemic. The independent Republic of individuals, small towns, coherent communities, distinct cities, local diners, shops and stores tied together with two lane blacktop was crumbling. Things only got worse faster. It was a disease of toxic, lulling dreams. American Dreams. And standardization was its crushing foot that flattened everything and left a homogenized wasteland in its trail. The old gods vanished and the new became despots. Go anywhere in America, Boston or Biloxi. You can’t tell where you are. Most shop at the same stores (real or virtual), eat at the same chain restaurants, wear the same clothes, gulp from the same Internet, swallow similar information, and think (within acceptable variations) the same thoughts. Even sin has become tediously consubstantial. Knowledge has been supplanted by content. Words are squeezed of meaning. Everyone is an expert and no one knows anything. Except Siri and Alexa. The Dreamtime of consumerism, consumption and conformity dominates. All that remains to come is the dominion of AI. Then we will all be watched over by machines of loving grace, free to graze in bovine bliss in the cybernetic meadows of bland utopia.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 6:54 AM UTC
Where were we when you quit the sound?
Caught in distance while you hung around
Encased inside of our own menial pursuit
Flaunting desperation as a constant survival
As you battled death in your combat boots
There is no glory with fate as your rival
What were you seeing in your distorted mind?
As you ate your last words and ecstaticly dined
At the chemical festival of illusions' absorbtion
How far did your gaze stroll onto the other side?
did you meet with an end or the start of damnation?
In which lonely drawer do your dreams now reside?
Where have the remnants of life made their grave?
Are they in the lingering regret that you've paved?
Through each flash of your face and casket sight
The delusional rebirth of your presence revealing;
Fragments of ended realities giving spark to night
Burning sigils into visions of a broken feeling
Flame lit sketches etched across a charred eulogy
Only a name remains lying in the wake of a memory
Pieces scattered amongst an unfitting resting place
Conflicting beauties molding a divine contrast
A devil laid to rest in the midst of holy space
One shade of diversity on a bland earthly cast
Echoes of descension from this dimming black sky
Adorning each reflection with your hollow eyes
Complexions left searching for an answer to hold
As to how lifes' vigor can so swiftly fall to decay
And,The aging of dignity resembling every tale told
Seems to shine a reality check on this tragic play
A nulling backdrop for this cemetary playground
Where the kings and queens become tediously crowned
With a sickly ailment that reaks of dalipidation
The stench of the end atop an eternal retrospect
Glaring back with the most sincere of validations
That the fallen live on as our recollections resurect
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
There is hardly a breeze. The February sun
Stretches forth long fingers, and begins the slow thaw
Of our deep-frozen bones, so that things new begun
Will, in the coming year, ripen, grow and mature.
The church bells chime the hour, tediously questioning
Our good use of the time, mocking our intentions,
As though we could never succeed in fashioning
Anything that endures, despite our pretensions.
And night comes slowly on, the light in the West dims
As the sun disappears below the horizon.
The moon rises between two great clouds in the East.
Stars come out one by one. An *** sad lowly beast,
Complains loud to the sky that his rations are gone,
And I feel his dull pain in all my aching limbs.
Mar 19, 2020
Mar 19, 2020 at 7:29 AM UTC
Let the beauty and pain of the world spill over the coffee table and onto the floor.
Use the raw materials to construct a reason-
a reason for why my mother tells me
what her grandmother told her:
"Like cream you will rise to the top".
Make something of yourself out of the chaos
and jagged edges of the world.
Let the bits and pieces of reality loose
to align in nothing but piles and small bits.
Then tediously right all wrongs,
in steady and purposeful motions,
until you are but dust and granules yourself.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
The red and blue berry's juice
stained her fingers and palms
with a purple mix and dripping lips
a sweet suckling on strawberry delight
as i crave fondly the lips that bite.
Again the tease so tediously forgotten,
not issued purposefully,
I ask a question out of turn,
then you face the window,
hand on elbow and hand on berry
berry to lip, rubbing stain
dripping stain down cheek then collarbone.
The sun seeps in to the tiled room,
orange with early-night sun-dropping light.
Fruit sweet on ******* perked
sticky juices staining brazier
shirt: black, no stain visible
yet holding stains in her memory.
summer nights where black was popular,
and so was kissing in the playground tubes.
After dark, when the sky turned deep blue,
she ran to find friends,
and found trouble instead.
Under a river's bridge,
with mud soaking flip flops and toes then ankles,
pushed against a rock and wall,
hip thrusting toward a desire for the action, but not the person
with lips stuck to hers in his own fit of lust,
denim cutting back pulses and immediate desires.
Trapped under the doomed wall of blue.
*** stains like blueberry stains
soak into denim or shirts
and will not be removed by detergent
or brain-washing.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
The time ticks by tediously.
It's as if this night is never-ending.
While I lie here waiting, my mind wanders idly.
As usual, my thoughts eventually settle on you.
(A sad nightly ritual, if you will)
Your face swims into focus, but I fear it's blurrier than before.
I can still picture the bright blue of your eyes perfectly,
But the contours of your face are getting fuzzy.
Is this really you I'm remembering,
Or are you slipping away?
I can't even recall the sweet melody of your voice.
This terrifying realization hits me hard.
I'm losing you.
Again.
These memories are all I have.
Please don't take them from me.
I want to scream out, but all I can do is gasp for air.
Once upon a time, you were my everything.
We were supposed to live happily ever after.
But you were stolen from me that stormy night.
I can still hear their words echo through the empty house.
He never felt any pain. He died instantaneously.
Well **** you. You left me with so much pain.
I suffer through it every night.
As I fight with all my might,
To keep your memory alive.
Because I will always love you.
The time ticks by tediously.
I'm just waiting until mine runs out.
Maybe then, we can be together again.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
A knobby kneed, crooked back, gimp mimic asked me for a smoke today
With turmoil of disgust, yet somewhere inside my freight-less morals and empathy filled heart, I felt sad for this creature
She discussed her where a bouts of why she was to travel to the next bus terminal
She discussed such events that lead her to use crack ******* explaining so tediously
how this man and that man were her men charging 30 bucks a ******* of their *****
Along with the fusing bubbles spewing from each corner of her split lip and infection bound mouth,
I gathered my thoughts, where as she ***** money..
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
The world would be a better place without me
here, polluting the atmosphere,
de-constructing the carefully, tediously sculpted landscape,
and building monuments to a capitalist god.
The galaxy would be a better place without us
trying to figure out the enigma beset before us,
trying to answer the unanswerable.
The universe would be better off if Humans were extinct,
without us killing ourselves over land that we're killing,
without us infecting everything we touch with the plague of humanity.
Without us, there would be harmony,
bliss,
universal peace.
Without us, everything would be perfect.
As it should be.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
Strolling in these crowded streets
Wandering through memories
The tune of love within
Subdues all those without
Angst filled void around
Unmindful pain – baffling and novel
See that familiar face around – no surprise
People are but objects reflecting the mind
Unbeknownst – love struck me
And now I am clearly unsure
What joy, what pain – what more?
They say its fatal – but its poetry obscure.
The emotional dissonance – is that right?
A void that is tediously strong
How do I speak my mind – confess the love
I fear end would win me over, before long.
Gap – the gap – this gap between…
Would cocoon worlds' entirety
The gap between the lips, longer still
If sealed, once sealed – chime unity
I could sing ballads of love
But I am a lifetime shy to be a poet
I speak my plight in vain hope
Of being one – with you, just for a moment
Virtues will be restored
And boons have been bestowed
If the night unfolds with you beside me,
- My man of gold
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
I wake feeling alone
**I sleep next to
a live carcass**
seems impossible huh
**Maybe it's me
I'm the carcass
just maybe huh**
**I have no feelings
or
I'm feeling too much
wanting and needing to much**
I was told;
*"no matter who I'm with
I'll never find happiness"*
**Maybe this unfeeling
non-understanding Carcass
has it right
Maybe it's me and always has been
I should feel alive and content
only thing I'm feeling is pain and confusion
judged and judgement
every day of my life**
**I thought being with this so called man
would be a wise investment
figured I'm hard working plus very family oriented
He's hard working but when it comes to family
I don't see it
He doesn't care unless its about him and his,
I never had someone so disloyal and selfish**
**Maybe that's why I'll never be happy
least not with him
but he's not been the only one to shun me
or disregard my feelings**
*as if the words I say make no sense to him
like I'm speaking in a foreign tongue*
**He seems not to comprehend anything
no matter how many times I've expressed or explained
and I'm so tired of asking ******
**Seems to me I'm always begging
& Naw I ain't to proud to beg
but it's become tediously boring
and no-productive
Sick of myself and not liking
whom I've become
no longer am I care free
I'm more pessimistic than ever
& I just want to be alone!**
Love?
**um I don't think so
I've been in too many relationships
all based on the pretenses
that it was out of "love"
I'm tired
I no longer wish
to be involved
Is it wrong
that I've
given UP?!**
***And is it wrong that
I no longer wanna be
with a living Carcass?!?!***
Copyright ©
Ayeshah K.C.L.N
1977-Present
All right reserved
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC