The most heart-wrenching, lip-biting, and awe-striking stanzas from my poetry posted in the last couple months. Which are your favorite?Past the hate, deceiving strings of promises, and rejection. Fruition and strength is more than my projection. I’m not striving for best-seller but I refuse to be forgotten; Regardless of his spoken verses, crafted to make me rotten. We were the "perfect storm" The perfect mix of furious rain And betrayal gusts. A sprinkle of humid sighs And arctic question marks. Exhaustion overcame him as you lay barely alive. How could you possibly let in another guy? He’ll forget attraction, anything that you were At the night’s end, you’re just “her” Her independence is boisterous, humble it Her self-esteem is tired, sedate it Her despair runs wild, leash it When your cake is as dry as his conversation, you need to add frosting, cover it in chocolate, and roll it in sprinkles. Once I put a guy’s story in ink, it’s like I’m letting a piece of him go, which ultimately, was a piece of me. Your own power is threatened with rejection and the nature of being used. Others at the brim of her concern. Self-help, something she’ll never learn. The mirror, something she doesn’t gaze; Beauty quickly passes like the days. Longevity or, alluding to it, is another deceiving tool. Who doesn’t want to feel like they are worth keeping around? Use me like an extension cord to broaden your reach to things much greater. Use me like a free trial membership, but you never intend to commit. This mentality dresses us in stripes to focus on the approval of others. Imprisoned by our own selfish intentions, we have no one to blame when we don't quote-unquote measure up. They plucked your strength and any petals of hope you had left, leaving you a mere stem in the ground. Cold, lonely, and bare; now with stunted growth. ½ a month the messages cease ½ a month his name doesn’t fall off her lips 1 month and moving on isn’t the only drink he sips. Of all the months to come and all the months that were He will never forget the 13 months of “her.” Your sideways smile and your outlandish claims,
And the fact that, for now, you can remember my name. Your smile is average, but mine you haven't noticed. You're trying to settle a bet: who can get closest. Daydream-crafted, Disney-sculpted, rom-com hope of a Mr. Right. Face it- he's not even a right now, he's a how about never. You'll never be beautiful, truly radiant, or lovely but, he had to say something... He's not interested in your scars because, subconsciously, he knows he'll be hindering them. There have been many male suitors proclaiming [she's beautiful], like slander in a rumor magazine; they too lie in a stack at the grocery check-out but her barcode is scratched. Her value is illegible. Maybe your silence is attributed to the curves of your mind or your ability to write her best ending. Maybe words are not instruments of compassion here and your silence is more reassuring to you. Deciphering your intentions are like attempting to break a federal in Cryptid code, it most often ends in imprisonment. Longevity wasn’t part of your deal. You’d rather be a memory only lined by film. On a roll; rolling on. I want my world turned on its side. I want to slide down altitude in the hundreds. I want to delve head-first into the unknown, swim with the sharks of fear, dream with the poets of the hills, and create with the crafters of imagination. Most of all, I can’t stand your words. Delivered with deliberation- Passionate, yet they remain and you don’t. Over-sensitive, over-analyzing, over-reaching But you can't possibly cast the anger he evokes Because in the end, it's your own heart you broke. So crawl back into the box that's designated Chaos and interest alleviated You're only as sharp as the sharpener allows Your tortoise heart floating in the gray clouds But beckoning black won't bring you down Fire engine heartbreak is where you're bound. With the optimism of yellow and integrity of white Little box of emotional colors, you'll be alright. Bad at acknowledging what she deserves or how these destructive encounters will continue to feed her insecurities, practically in famine. She’s bad at harnessing confidence and instead, allows her worth to be harnessed so tightly that it’s stifled circulation cuts off her breathing. Her self-esteem is motionless. It has passed. It’s too late; she is nothing. She is bad and unworthy of good. Now there’s a concept that’s certainly foreshadowing The conniving nature that leaves your victims battling The crave, the hankering for another piece Because of the promises left, definition of a tease Forget the ingredients wasted You're what I wish I never tasted. Shut me out like you loved the idea of me but again, your ideas have changed. Shut me out because I was never really welcomed in anyway. Memories can procreate in any environment or season. The only state she’ll forever reside is a healthy state of mind. She shoots for the treetops because she needs a higher vantage point to even gaze at the stars, much less shoot for them. She smiles because she chooses to make the most of the travesties that have built her; pebbles make for a strong driveway.
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AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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