Spoken Word

Every poem she speaks
That was written with you in mind
Leaves paper cuts on her tongue.

And every time she mentions your name,
In anger,
In memory,
In sweet and sorrowful poetry,
Leaves scabs on her lips.

You have peeled away at her heart, so the remnants fall off like the swirls of apple skins so carelessly tossed away.
Beauty in nakedness;
Her words always leave her exposed.

She wished you’d never kissed her,
In the dream, anyway.
You pulled her arm back,
Saving her,
You pressed your lips to hers with such force,
Craving her,
Until she had to gasp for breath before she replied by kissing you again.

June 26th,
That’s when her nightmare began.
She knew nothing to very little of you then,
And yet,  you have grown to be part of her,
Unfortunately ever since.

Today her friend told her she deserved better than you.
She knows that true.
But she still wants you.
Because she never stopped.
Even when you left,
Even then she waited for 11 o’clock.

You are her burden to bear,
She wouldn’t have it any other way.
And because of this, she has stayed,
Far, far away.
Hoping one day you’ll come for her,
Even though she doesn’t need to be saved.

Every memory of you shatters her,
Mirrored pieces etched on her skin.
Leaving trails of lust and blood,
A bleeding heart,
A pure reflection.

You had feelings then.
I know you deny it now.
But that’s the only plausible explanation
For running away,
For not seeing her face,
Does it hurt
And if so how?

When she texts you to tell you
She was given a chance to speak
You won’t even come hear her,
Did you make your choice out of business,
Or the fact you would be near her?

Bricks on her chest,
Heartbeat weak.
Not due to flattery,
Rather your savagery.
Don’t encourage her to pursue her dreams,
If you won’t be there to see.

She is terrified of their opinion,
Has feared all of their rejection,
Will there be enough inflection
In her voice when she speaks?
When she sees them all staring at her,
But none with your eyes to meet
Hers across a dizzying room,
Too much like a crowded street.

Bandage your tongue or make it the razor blade.

Your lips are swelling, but only with tenderness, words you’ve yet to confess.

He will never hear you now.

Who can blame him?
What you are reading
Is what he is living
Every day and how.


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