Minority to ruleyou poet of a thousand words
with the grammatically correct personality.
where are all those pre-disposable idea's now?
your sentences, simple and now too few
are slipping from your grasp
through fingers too bruised and numb to feel a thing.
cracks have started to appear in your persona
and your precious majority
suspects, that which you fear most
your irrelevance has become undeniable.
now you are the one, being scrutinized
from behind one way mirrors..
good bye poet "of the age's"
i will miss you not, but
look forward to the permanent silence
now emanating from your battered voice
though more importantly, your pen.
clearly i still sit smug, as before
you should have known better
than attempting to try an please the world.
but i, with my mismatched lines
diverse as they are
will prevail where you have
met your most untimely end..
words. i ramble, to myself.Silently. I sob, absent of sound but tears stream down my cheeks.
Alone. I walk, surrounded by a thick veil of impenetrable dark.
Unanswered. I watch, for someone to come find me in my immense desolation.
Dispassionate. I hope, if somebody did search me out the person wouldnt find me or forget why they had even come.
Ignorant. I wish, anyone knew or even cared that I was here.
Remorseful. I admit, I almost enjoy my self pity aware its wrong.
Regardless. I observe, no one is going to come no one ever will or does.
Shameful. I remain, as always painfully forgotten but now for the most part unable even to bring myself to care anymore.
Sincerely. I write, my emotions solely for the devastation that is me.
Gently Curving LinesTheres this girl, and she writes flowing words of poetry on her arms
hiding it from view and carving it out, with sharp razorblades.
but really she just wants the world to forget or
someone to care.
Then to write out her memoir, in an ink made up of her blood
and if anyone had asked her why, shed have told them it was so she
Would never forget.
Theres this woman, and she wears pencil skirts and shirts with no sleeves
she worries about her life and the future, the same as you or I.
but really she just wants someone to notice the faint scars
covering her arms.
Because once way back when, they where her poetry
and if you asked her why, she would tell you it was so she
Could never forget.