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Damaré M Feb 2017
Your beauteous archetype will never let you suffer the pain that most of us regular people face. Despite your rudeness, we will always make excuses to partake In your cuteness. You don't know how it feel to be forgotten about. Your heart never fell, in result of seeing someone who bailed holding hands with a more sightliness female. You have everyone's attention. How does pretty feel when pain is inflicted? Does pretty really hurt all along, or is that just a song? I'm venting through this poem because I can only imagine you being in my arms. The reality of you laying in my chest happily is slim to none. My confidence in myself is strong, but that only go as far as grabbing you by the arm, signaling you to come on. Utterances of "he's not where you belong". My aplomb is only dawn in comparison to his bodacious mannerism. You can't see anything wrong. But I can see it within you. Whenever I spy deeply, past your aesthetic definitive. As I forage through your lushness I stumble upon the truth. The naked truth. Fastuousness at it's best. Desolateness at it's worst. Blessed but hurt. A nest without a bird, a freeway without a curve, an intoxication without a slur, a feline with no reason to purr,  a sea otter without it's fur; basically a sentence without a word. Bleak; you worship the worthless, bargain yourself to be purchased so in result you are the first resort to a man with no purpose. How does it feel to be a self-merchant? Wholesale and your clientele being boys who are uncertain. If you were interested in men he will treat you like one with the womb in the front (womb-men), no matter how feral you were you'll b like his little ******. See you are the resultant of a posture that is too potent. When you're in motion, no guy can continue with focus. You were always told how bold that you looked without any clothes, but never reminded that your mind was the only thing you have left when everything else unfold. Hopeless; desirable but the story on how to be hereafter admirable was untold. "No matter how fine the statue is, overtime it will have to erode, it's the significance in the chronicle that we will always extoll"
Austin-Vicker Jan 2021
Did I hold too tight that it died?
Or, I held too loose that it flew?
For my mind mildly walks in taunting thoughts
Of how love's ocean went dry
For what I had in my palms have
Melted into memories
Envisioned future, now an unhistorical history
Alas, vapours of  memories!
All but a memory

Didn't I wish I were to her a brother
To shield her from societal snares and ills
For were the journey a hill
I'd climb even her mountains till
Her heels heads the aisle

I was readily her serf
To treat her in rosy loyalty
Coy her in her coyness and
Answer her blue prayers at bedtime sweetness
Cravings of being her knight and
Keeping her head till the death of starless nights
And to keep her 'heart-hold'
Like a man keeps his household
True, I prayed to be all these & one thing
Her husband!
So to be the band that holds her body and soul solely
Gosh! The times we timed
The days we dined
Are now but messy memories
Nought but a memory!

Austin-Vicker 🌺

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