A breast of the earth
Heaved – kisses the horizon
Cloud tips: valley dew
About the Creator
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Katana
You didn't care what happens to me. I stopped caring what happens to you. Transparency was never your strongest attribute nor was your hospitality. Because of you, I spoke melancholy fluently. I was the ocean trying so desperately to wave at you but you were the moon and you wouldn't look downward. I was in the spillways while you were in the clouds. Subterranean tunnels and hot air balloons. Gutterballs and solar flares. You were the gravity in the entire universe while I was dwelling in the mantle of the planet you developed amnesia about. I wasn't authorized to speak up and use my voice. You were the override that rescinded each and every choice. The vagueness didn't add to any absent conversation. Your deliberate attempts at lying were made straight to my face. I didn't believe in gullibility until the veil was lifted. I didn't know my loyalty and dedication were not reciprocated until the very end. Your words couldn't realign with any thoughtless action. Your absent mindfulness sliced through my peripheral vision like a katana. I was always prepared for self-sabotage but this all came from you. Every scenario played out in my mind except for this one. Any sword would have done less damage than what your intentions unloaded. My plans have more velocity and more fury than any blade from any bygone era. This is not my punishment nor my fault. This was the result of incompetence and incompatibility but I kept trying despite the obvious. What a Sisyphean endeavor but I chose to keep failing. You never had access to my heart because it was never yours to begin with. I knew inevitably this would run its course but I hoped it would end at my own choosing. You didn't take the truth with you when you left. The universe didn't throw a wrench into my blueprints. It threw a dagger into my coveted and prolonged suffering. What a weapon to use against my chainmail and unexpected resurrection. I have created my own katana, dripping with ferocious rage and the ability to conquer. Forged with ambition and a sense of renewed purpose. I am my own master and I will slay those who say otherwise. I don't have anymore to give you, not even a goodbye
By Anna Torresabout 20 hours ago in Poets
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