deepundergroundpoetry.com
I fucking hate poetry
Every beautifully-broken
poetess tossed over
by a lover
looks like my future.
I hate poetry
so much the sight of a pen
makes my lip curl in
contempt.
(because I love you)
(because I hate it.)
Because I feel like a goddess
as your gentle lips
deluge my senses,
distracting me from the
feel of your rough hands
as they grab a block
and
sand me down
until I’m so brittle
that you hang me on
your window
like a suncatcher
no longer blocking the light,
but palely reflecting
my own sickly colors on a
bare spot
on the floor.
I love the demented way
I curl up to your hand,
catlike and purring
as you trace the thin string
that leaves me hanging,
and whole against the
light of the window,
and I love the way that
wicked smile of yours,
sends chills down my back
as you toy with me,
rock me
back and forth,
watching the wash of
all that I am
paint a patina
across your feet,
as we both wonder if
(when)
you’re going to
let me
fall.
(And, I love you.)
(and, i hate it.)
One day
you will drop me
not to see me shatter into dust,
not to paint the world anew
in the ashes of me
I could respect that shit, you know
I would hand myself over right now,
humping a flame thrower
for that.
No, one day you’ll drop me
because you have to
and I’ll let you
(because
I love you)
(because I hate you)
And I wish I could
find the balls to say
“let’s walk away
while I can still
survive.”
Instead,
I slide into your lap,
press a rougher grade
of sandpaper
into your hands,
and my lips against
your jaw and
ask you to
hand me a pen,
darling,
I feel inspired.
poetess tossed over
by a lover
looks like my future.
I hate poetry
so much the sight of a pen
makes my lip curl in
contempt.
(because I love you)
(because I hate it.)
Because I feel like a goddess
as your gentle lips
deluge my senses,
distracting me from the
feel of your rough hands
as they grab a block
and
sand me down
until I’m so brittle
that you hang me on
your window
like a suncatcher
no longer blocking the light,
but palely reflecting
my own sickly colors on a
bare spot
on the floor.
I love the demented way
I curl up to your hand,
catlike and purring
as you trace the thin string
that leaves me hanging,
and whole against the
light of the window,
and I love the way that
wicked smile of yours,
sends chills down my back
as you toy with me,
rock me
back and forth,
watching the wash of
all that I am
paint a patina
across your feet,
as we both wonder if
(when)
you’re going to
let me
fall.
(And, I love you.)
(and, i hate it.)
One day
you will drop me
not to see me shatter into dust,
not to paint the world anew
in the ashes of me
I could respect that shit, you know
I would hand myself over right now,
humping a flame thrower
for that.
No, one day you’ll drop me
because you have to
and I’ll let you
(because
I love you)
(because I hate you)
And I wish I could
find the balls to say
“let’s walk away
while I can still
survive.”
Instead,
I slide into your lap,
press a rougher grade
of sandpaper
into your hands,
and my lips against
your jaw and
ask you to
hand me a pen,
darling,
I feel inspired.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 12
reading list entries 5
comments 18
reads 1580
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.