twisteddreamer4 (twisteddreamer4) wrote in tattered_poetry,
twisteddreamer4
twisteddreamer4
tattered_poetry

Some poetry I've written over the past year.

In love with a fantasy

In love with a fantasy;
a weeping willow sorrow.

Broken heart is crying out
and yearning for tomorrow.

It is quite a dainty thing
that aches for your attention.

You turn a blind eye to it
and show it no affection.

Her love, you cannot see it.
You're lingering on a lie.

She may not be an angel,
but by gods she'll surely try.

She sees your tears fall downward.
Happiness you fail to find.

She'd hold you, safe, forever,
if only you weren't so blind. 


First Loves Never Die

He has my heart in a vise,
and every once in a while he turns the screw
to watch it crush my organ tighter.

I think he gets a power trip,
or at least increases his confidence level a few points
before "Game Over."

I ought to be used to it now,
expect this child's play from him,
but I keep hoping next time will be different.

"How do I love thee?"
How I wish I did not.
But I'll hang on, anyway.
It's a cheap thrill.



I Love You
 
Even though I’m not the one in your      arms,
you’re still there to catch me when I fall.
Even though I’m not the one you wake up next to every morning,
you’re still willing to try your hardest to make me smile.
Even though I’m not your girl, you still  care.
I love you more than anything for that.



Wind-up Dolly

Wind her up and she'll dance for you
to mechanical music, a prerecorded ditty.
Lips of chapped red paint, dry porcelain eyes.
Artificial smile, even when she's feeling shitty.

Arm bent backwards from too much handling.
Head chipped open from the last time she fell.
Hair pulled out when you got really angry.
You put Little Wind-Up Dolly through hell.



Poetic Release

I took a pen and scratched
across some paper white.
A razor scratched across the flesh
is a less than beauteous sight.

So pain turned into letters
and tears transformed to words.
Emotions spilled across the desk,
like injured, bloodstained birds.

The piece is nearly finished.
The ink is damp and smeared.
My soul is down on paper,
yet my head does not feel cleared.

Depression turns to anger.
Things are strewn across the floor.
I told the world my secrets,
but my heart's still clenched and sore.



The Stars

Sweet child watch the lights flickering above, like
a large city, but a heavenly city,
without murder or crime.
Life is but a gentle cloud,
a breath of wind, a soft, peaceful sigh.
No drugs.
No guns.
No rapists or murderers,
thieves or villians.
Just the stars, the moon,
the sun, the planets,
all in their bright, heavenly glory,
shining down on us and pitying us for what we are:
mere mortals with flaws and
dysfunctions galore.
So make a wish that maybe someday
we too can fly up and enjoy
the safety and mystique of the night sky
before we all perish in
one brilliant boom of daylight.





  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic
  • 0 comments