high on life and more than a little love drunk,
our hiatus has reached an end
you've worn out my heart --
it keeps finding its way back into my throat
you've worn out my stomach --
the butterflies still refuse to leave
your kiss reminds me that I'm capable of falling in love
...all over again with you
I'm a work in progress,
you're an overlooked masterpiece
a man with a message,
you're making great time
the sinners have it easy,
it's the saints who do the work
I won't close you in and I won't cut you out
(please do me the same courtesy)
our love is so comfortable
...and this is how it's supposed to be.
HypocrisyHypocrisy11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Mail-in rebates keep her connected to the outside world.
Cracker Jacks provides all her jewelry.
She only sings on Wednesday, and she doesn't believe in tomorrow.
Alphabet soup means profanity in a bowl,
And magnetic poetry means gibberish on the fridge.
Her Barbies are all named after Biblical figures,
And Judas is her favorite.
She was born in August, but swears it was June,
And no one's ever known why.
The only thing she's ever loved is the concept of death --
That one day she will be six feet away from all of life's imperfections.
Pain is always capitalized,
love is always lowercased,
And O. J. didn't do it.
She's very religious --
A dedicated Hypocrite.
Hypocrisy is a beautiful thing,
And Judas listens as she sings it's praises
...but only on Wednesday.
Christmas lights stay up year-round, and sandals must be worn with socks.
She goes jogging at midnight, and follows the moon wherever it may lead her.
Smiling is a sign of weakness, and frowning shows good character.
FragileFragile11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She may be broken, but I love her all the same.
Manufactured in 1986, she's the only one of her kind.
I used to feed her gummy bears and juice boxes, but now it's steak and carbonated beverages.
Instead of jumpropes and teddy bears, she now carries scripts and cameras.
The corners of her mouth have come undone, and the seams now droop down to her chin.
The eyes that had twinkled so brightly seem to be dimming to a soft glow.
The heart that had been filled to the brim with love for her family has started to shrivel.
I can tell that careless errors and broken promises have seeped into her ears -- filling her head with all sorts of nonsense.
A lie for every hair upon her head, her soul has been completely trampled.
What good is a photographic memory if there's nothing to remember?
Things just got so blurry -- nothing is clear to her any more.
She's the one dancing with an umbrella...talking to herself in hopes of remembering what it's like to be alive.
She hides behind a blanket of metaph