July 10, 2010

You Don’t Get a Poem

I wrote this last night...

You Don’t Get a Poem

You don’t get a poem
You don’t get a word to cling to;
To wonder if these words I am saying are directed towards you
You don't get a poem because your skin reeks of
rotting cities of dreams and hollow stomachs

The poets here
have overgrown into giants
Forcing their heads through the surface of your skin
Spreading your love all over this town
They have grown too accustomed to
these sleepless nights
Your lovers have grown too accustomed to
the pale mumbles of your aching body

And I know I am supposed to have mercy on you
I am suppose to forgive and let go
Go with the flow of your river
After all, I was built to know the suffering
My arms were sculpted to cradle your pain to sleep
My heart is your keeper
But you are so quick to bend down for life
Under the mental arrest of your stupidity,
you are so blind that you can not recognize the glare
of sunlight in your eyes;
Those beautiful eyes that can light up this crazy
little town on a good day

And me?
I am battered
I am wasted
But I am ready to get free

I am ready to claim the breath you
so desperately attempt to steal from my lips
For once I would like to walk away with something
A crown
that I can raise to the sky as an offering
An ode to my goddess, to the life she deserves to live,
and men who deserve her kiss
Our love was never perfect,
but it was mine.

So no,
you don’t get a poem
Not this time

This one
is for me.

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