Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Turn Off The Moon

You called me your baby,

then you backed away,

tainted by your tone.

I wasn’t a baby,

according to my advanced but amateur mind,

bare legs,

back and forth,

behind your desk,

in the dress you decided suited me best,

precocious pendulum,

preempting our doom.

You found me again,

your fantasy,

in front of the fire,

hell beside me,

as you held me,

a little kiss between two lovers.

Nothing more,

in case your guilt,

stained the rug,

once pure,

covered in your cherry crime,

because I was your baby,

and you were frightened of me.

You were frightened of me,

the way that you wanted me.

I told you I was of the age,

where I could have wine with dinner,

watching you snigger,

as I choked on a taste,

my young tongue couldn’t comprehend.

My embarrassment is ice water,

I am inverted,

and you are averted,

once again,

because you see a lonely teen,

who’s used to laughter,

same age as your daughter,

sweet sixteen.

Yearning for youth,

playground plasma,

all across your hands,

starry eyed school girl,

so full of salacity,

that you project onto me.

You see the white rug,

choking,

caked in blood.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Yes. No. Yes. No.

Yes,

I was so dramatic,

but that’s what you loved about me,

I was a tempest,

a teen temptress,

slamming doors,

stirring you up,

tearing the whole room apart,

until you could take no more,

kissing away my kicking and screaming.

img_1023

No,

I didn’t have a clue,

and there are things that nobody can teach you,

until you are ready to be taught.

I dreamed at dusk,

turning to Taylor and Adele,

to try and figure out why you were so cruel,

to someone who lived so passionately for you.

img_1027

Yes,

your efforts to protect me,

from the violence of your disturbing desire,

felt cruel,

because all I knew,

was how to want you.

I toiled in time,

that wasn’t spent in a smitten storm,

that raged all around you,

possessively pouring,

never quite catching you,

because you had selfishly decided,

that you were staying inside,

to wait out the vengeful weather,

that you had spent many nights praying for.

img_1025

No,

I suppose you didn’t think it through,

when you were gazing out,

at the fruitless fields,

that you thought had flowered for the last time.

I suppose you didn’t think it through,

as you sat at your desk,

leaving lupins for Dodola,

and asking her,

for fresh,

young spring rain.


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