ABC’ing My Way Out

An apology
Bursts from your
Chest,
Determined to
Earn
Forgiveness for when
Gratitude turned to
Hostility.
I refuse to accept
Justification for
Killing our
Love over lust.
My feelings are
Not
One of your
Playthings.
Queens
aRe
To be
Upraised
Verbally
Without fear of an
eX disrupting their
Zen.

*I don’t know how I feel about this, so you guys can decide 🙂 It wasn’t easy to create*


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

I Thought Wrong

I thought I fell in love with a gentleman
on the night we sat so close, our shoulders
kissed, and my hands did not know where
to rest.

When he stilled the wind with my breath
as he brought my fiddling fingers to his
lips and told me I looked beautiful in the
moonlight.

I thought it was a compliment. To be
beautiful in the spotlight with the stars’
light show. I did not yet know that he
meant I looked beautiful after dark.

When the sun hid under blankets and
took my details with it. I was no longer
flawed if he could not see them.

I thought I fell in love with a gentleman,
but he was only using his mouth as a way
to keep me interested until he did not have
to see me to love me, and could instead lie
to everything he was blind to.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

III. Wildflower (I’m Sorry)

*This poem is a part III, to a series I have started for events in my life, called To Plant the Memories Like Seeds. Check out the first part, Chain-Link Fence
Check out the fourth part, IV. Pesticides*

He was a wildflower,
free in the meadows
of possibilities.

His petals stood golden,
a marigold in a field full
of daisies.

I’d never been much of a
flower person, but the
oddity drew me in.

I dug under his roots, and
planted him in the safety
of my home.

I whispered my secrets to
him on nights only the wind
would whisper back, and
mistook his silence for
understanding.

I worshipped his beauty on
my windowsill, but failed to
notice the petals drooping
in the dark.

I failed to notice the crisping
leaves turning brown and
curling in on themselves.

The plague was spreading
through his veins, and I was
the chemical that put it there.

I only wish I’d realized sooner,
you can not force a wildflower
to love the same as a potted
plant;

They’re just meant to remain unbound.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

The Last Straw

A gold band shoved between the cracks
Of a beige coated coach,
In those cardboard walls
Was the turning point
For the misplaced
I love you’s
Stupid not to recognize
The ghost of shadowed tan lines
On the fingers that once whispered
Secrets on my skin
Writing lies in braille
A story book of a man
Who only knows how to write
About the tales
Of being unfaithful


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, now available on amazon.

Six O’clock

The batteries ran out years ago,
when the hands stopped chasing
midnight, paths crossing off the
loneliness, one full embrace a day
was enough to keep pursuing the
feeling of being together. Our time
froze at six o’clock, as far away as
we could get, our hands no longer
chasing twelve.

Mr. Lonely

Time is precious, and lonely knows it.
He is a greedy man, stealing moments
that should be spent filling your heart,
not your cup. He locks your mind in a
box, leaving the slideshow of memories
from a time you were not alone. He
leaves your aching heart to mend its
own, knowing your only company is
pain and the numbing substance of
your choosing.

Tongue Twister

You had my tongue twisted in knots,
curled around my words so I could
not speak out against your
unreasonable insults. You were the
silencer on the gun I never heard, but
felt. I bled my arguements, awaiting
confirmation on the validity in my
statements. I did not realize you
cannot rationalize with someone
justifying selfish actions.

You Made Candy Less Sweet

During a time of sugar-coated promises
and sweet-toothed grins,
you were a bag of sour gumdrops.
You produced puckered lips
and friendly laughs
until the burns kicked in at your bite.
You gave away pieces of you
until all that remained
were bloody tongues and chaffed lips.
During this time of sugar-coated promises
and sweet-toothed grins,
you were a bag of sour gumdrops,
good only in moderation.