nobody that looks
at her
ever stops to wonder
why white porcelain
does not crack
(it does).
nobody that loves
on her
knows her heart
and the words she whispers
to the moon
(she screams).
she is broken -
on the inside.
to the world she is
a statue.
she is a dreamer -
in her soul.
to the naked eye she is
vanity.
she holds the world
between the folds
of her robe,
and when asked -
she bows.
her sad eyes
meet the ground
where her fate
lies
just like the shattered
remnants
of the ones
who stood proudly
(before her).
About the Creator
Sara
Don’t look for love.
Be love.
Freak On A Leash
Beth and I are the right fit for each other. We click and enjoy the same things. And she has a wild, kinky, erotic side. Which I thoroughly enjoy. The second time we hung out we made passionate love. She scratched my back and let me pull her long red hair. As well as saying Yes Sir, as we fucked roughly. For a younger woman of 31, with two kids. Aged 5 and 9. Petering out for a meal ticket and a pat on the back, that is not well-deserved. Just another psycho bitch I have picked up in my shattered life.
By Tambourine Man2 days ago in Poets
Comments (2)
Boom. I loved this. So thought-provoking, sad, but beautiful!
So poignantly beautiful! Loved your poem!