He Was Missing the Strength She Needed
As he turned tail and run
She laughs in the face of his adversity,
Relief welcoming her future destiny,
Hesitation now more understanding,
Insisting she hold tight, just watch and see.
🏃♂️
His lips spouted his affection,
Too easily — she became nervous of his talk,
Wondering if he could stand the test of time,
Or if he’d tuck his tail between his legs and walk.
🏃♂️
Does he have the necessary tenacity,
Or the strength to see things through?
She has her doubts, for his ego’s big,
And his words — somehow don’t ring true.
🏃♂️
She holds back her heart —
Waiting,
Knowing his tendencies to turn tail and run —
Hesitating.
🏃♂️
She knows the workings of his decisions
Can turn on a whim,
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,
Predicating the way the wind blows is slim.
🏃♂️
She was right to be wary,
To see if he could earn her trust,
Because he was quick to disappear,
In the face of his blustering disgust.
🏃♂️
The sad truth of the matter,
He was missing the strength in which she would need,
Allowing her to dodge a silver bullet,
And the resulting unnecessary bleed.
🏃♂️
She’s not for the feint of heart,
It takes a man to hold her heart in his hand,
A humble, honest and strong masculinity,
In which he discovered he could no longer stand.
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.
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Originally published on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis5 days ago in Humans
Comments (5)
Freaking coward! Oh she dodged a bullet alright! Loved your poem my friend!
My wife sometimes suggests that she's not really the one I wanted to marry, with whom to spend the rest of my life. She asks me how she is supposed to believe that I really love her & didn't simply settle for her when others said, "No." My answer? "With everyone else, I let go. With you, I held on."
Isn’t it funny how we expect to be given the privileged place of partner to someone without even making the effort to become a friend first?! It took a lot of decades but I finally see the insanity of it all 🕊️🤍✨
Great poem! I did an interview with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide. But it was funny! This is a great poem!
Always an Awesome 👍 Read♥️💯😉📝💯✌️