These three words,
I let them punish me.
Regretting that I can’t let
them speak from where they lay.
For to say them aloud,
I know they will drop like stones.
Heavy rocks of my walls, crumbling
to just end up where I began. Alone,
carpeting the same old floors
of the same old home.
A welcome mat to nobody at all,
just a sandy reminder
of a summer embrace.
I let them consume me.
Slavishly they feast on every scrap,
every morsel of me
as I lay myself down,
a banquet at their table.
I let them hold me
entombed in their trap
As I sit rocking back and forward,
wondering why I let my thoughts
weather the same old storms,
bringing downpours
and thunderclaps
that forever moan,
telling me I’m only good enough
to be forever alone.
Would they be easier to digest if
I cut them into smaller bites?
Would they sit right?
These three words itch in my mouth
like ulcers spreading pain and doubt
through every movement that follows,
and the hurt
is a hard pill to swallow.
The bitterest tang of all,
it sticks in your throat
as your mouth dries up,
caught tight like a rotten reminder
of your own candyfloss dreams dying in summer.
I follow my thoughts
as they migrate south,
but my lips are chapped and dried,
my wings no longer flap,
feathers too thin and tired.
I need that special air,
that glorious countryside.
I need to be where
those three words reside.
Thanks for reading
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https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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