It will come as no surprise to most of you to learn that I am a flapper, the rest of you probably haven’t heard the term. A flapper is not some weird sea creature but someone who panics and gets agitated with themselves.
I flap therefore I am, at times I think I was born to flap, as somehow it’s encoded into my DNA. I’m always trying to find the answers to everything but could it be I was just made this way?
It feels as though I let you all down,
The grey cloud above the perfect town,
A caterpillar who won’t become a butterfly,
Silent nothings that haunt your battle cry.
Patches of frost on newly bloomed rose,
A tiny hole in your beautiful new clothes,
The ugly duck in a lake filled with swans,
Decaying rust that muddies antique bronze.
Lurking in the shadows,
Keeping her on her toes,
Waiting patiently to pounce,
She will feel him trounce.
Slithering from a distance,
He has a ton of persistence,
The perfect moment will come,
She will have to succumb.
The bus drives down an empty street,
A man staggers home with two left feet,
Blue lights twinkle in the far distance,
As the woman wonders about her existence.
How quiet the town becomes at twilight,
We fear the monsters that lurk in the night,
Uncertainty of what creeps in the shadows,
A woman worries if these are appropriate clothes.
Silence slithers through the same familiar ground,
He is happy waiting for the perfect victim to surround,
No one around will listen when she cries out in pain,
The woman’s life will forever feel this very strain.
A burden she will carry with her through it all,
Times will be that tough she will fail to crawl,
Horrified at what the darkness could send her way,
This woman continues to fear it until this day.
Abuse comes in many forms, for me, it was both psychological and physical abuse that my ex put me through. Today I’d like to talk about what is left behind after abuse, and what it is like trying to move forward from something that is so hateful.Read More »
The green monster rears its giant head,
Emerging from the depths for bloodshed,
Consuming every obstacle in its path,
Until all that is left is sheer wrath.
Why is everything so easy for others?
All I can do is hide under the covers,
Why am I constantly being disregarded?
Stuck with a mind that’s being bombarded.
As she sits on her chair watching the leaves change,
The feeling of joy seems somewhat strange,
People below are always to busy to notice,
Its beauty is being appreciated by the poetess.
All she can see is the magnificent autumn trees,
How they dance in the slightest hint of a breeze,
The road below her is busy and congested,
But when she stares out she always feels rested.
