Poetry / One Year
Marinaded in your good fortune &
thrown into the pan-
burnt black to a crisp:
burned like it was hell
for I was never good-
not to face some god,
who would pass with me
through mutual circles, but
plug our respectively different
square pegs.
You are not your promises.
And you laugh.
Your best intentions left me in a box-
again;
with cream colored cement walls
no razors, no locks
and you tucked into your
family at home…
that never knew I existed.
You are not your apologies.
And still you laugh.
I’ve not felt good about being your
mid-life crisis.
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I imagine that That in the end this would be how most mistreses feel I liked the part about not feeling good about being your mid life crisis. All in all i liked it
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marinaded….spelled marinated.
Chilling….love the last line…hit it home.
the last line breaks up the flow of the poem. its seems odd to move from conversing about gods to being in padded room, bring more transition between the 2 parts.
I like…You can feel the anger and the betrayal. Nice Job!
Uniquely orchastrated peotry, I must say. It has a cynical tone that collaborates personal perspective with outside realism. A curiousity, also, but it has some feeling held back, rather than fulling expressed; slight ranting can occur through a writer’s mind, but when caught and molding into the art together, can produce some fantastic amazements for everyone to behold.
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