Untitled Musings #3

He seems like the kind of guy you could hold hands with in public. The kind of guy who isn’t ashamed to throw his arms around you when you’re walking down the street. He seems like the kind of guy who will purposely make loud smacking noises when he kissing you so you can feel a slight tinge of embarrassment and instinctively check over your shoulder to see if anyone is looking.

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Killing – Poetry

I don’t know where I was going with this…it kind of just came out some time ago…

Killing

She just sits, staring, sighing, silent, alone

No one to help her get over the fact that she’s quietly dying at home,

Shit – she is the real reason that I’m writing this poem.

Blank faces, contemplating, never smiling, forced but not appreciated the way she takes care of another woman’s child and,

The pain that spews from his mouth is anything but mild and,

Wishes taking her back to when she was child again,

Wanting to genuinely smile but then,

Present situations violently hit her membrane,

Wanting to keep her cool but past instances temps to drive her insane,

Her cool was never too cool more like an Iraqi’s bomb,

Explosive attitudes ticking,

She calms, and thinks about her mom,

Trials and tribulations that took place in and out her home,

No one here for her defense or to tell them that they’re wrong,

Voice of a songbird she doesn’t even sing a song,

It’s more like she cries it,

Pushing and packing them boxes with bloodshot eyelids,

She told herself she would always push through the odds when,

They ever met her,

So stealing and raping her cheddar she said to them, “that’s ok, one day I promise, I’ll do better,”

But those noisy nights have never seen cheeks any wetter.