I’m sorry that I’ve been M.I.A. My grad work has picked up, and I’ve also been writing the sequel to my romance book. But, I have some good news. I have released a new book! Today! This one is just a small book of poems, and I’m more nervous about this one than any other work. Maybe because it’s not fiction. I mean, it’s thoughts, and feelings, and it’s more of who I am than a romance novel. I’m wondering if any of you feel this way? That you can write anything, except when it’s about you?
No? Just me?
Anyway, if you want to read something interesting, (LOL) and support an indie author, then click the link below. If you find yourself overwhelmed with the poems, then be kind and leave a review. I love you all, and I hope to be back up here tonight with some more stuff.
Love, Undefined: https://amzn.to/2LsLvq8
I was down today.
I didn’t have much to say.
In all actuality I had thoughts,
But I fear my truth will keep me caught.
So I pretend, and in a way become brought.
I stayed tied in knots.
I was at the point of depression.
Caught in the confession of my accession to my oppression,
When I received relief that came as a sweet, cool decompression,
I was in this wonderful feeling of refreshen.
My comfort comes in words.
In the feelings they bring.
Of that life-changing comfort that causes one to sing.
Such a perfect thing.
A kindred spirit is hard to find,
That is why I’m here to remind,
And make sure that you’ll be kind,
To my love affair,
That I’ll swear without fanfare,
No one understands me.
I’m not sure who I am.
I’m not sure you’ll like who you really see.
I’m not sure I can freely be me.
My heart hurts.
My chest burns.
I have no relief.
I can’t seem to see straight.
The weight of the world is on my shoulders.
I have no relief.
I can’t tell the truth.
It won’t set me free.
My body is tired.
I know no other option.
I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.
I don’t know what I hope to accomplish with this.
Maybe my pain can give someone else comfort.
A moment of bliss.
My truth is I cannot tell it.
I hate myself.
I hate my thoughts.
My wants, and desires, and hope,
It’s been stripped from me.
Yet I have to be strong.
I cry at night and in the dark.
So that in the day I’m light and full of false snark.
I don’t know how I feel about love.
I see the desperation around me.
The need for people to belong, never to be.
Why does that baffle me?
I’m astounded, flabbergasted, embarrassed.
Not for me, but for you.
I hope my befuddlement will one day hold the clue.
That I seem to need,
So that I can be free.
Stuck in this prison of my own making.
I don’t see the need for companionship.
Have I been burned too many times?
Have I missed my one person,
I have no shrine.
I used to have dreams of how love would go.
But that turned out-
I’m afraid of not feeling what everyone else does.
Am I broken?
Then why do I feel free?
Spreading my legs and throwing my head back in joy.
I’m not shackled down,
Ready to drown,
Packed to leave town.
It’s in the words.
This dream confused me.
For the life of me, I can’t let it be.
Our stomachs pressed together.
Dur et doux.
Why would that stick out to me?
Why should I be turned on by your stomach against my own?
My heart was racing, thighs and panties wet,
Ready to be your pet.
It was then I paid attention.
You whispered words in my ear.
Nonsensical, fast, slow, words.
With every word you spoke,
My mouth watered.
My skin pulsed.
My eyes dilated.
I wish I could remember the words you said to me.
I wish I could hold them close for the lonely nights.
I wish I could carry them with me like I do my sight.
It was the words.
It’s one thing to say something.
Another thing to mean it.
What would it take?
For you to put it all at stake?
My dream was you gave me you.
But now I know that it’s not true.
In more ways than one.
I stand here in the night,
Waiting for that light.
That effervescent, unavoidable feeling,
That would explain this clear ceiling.
That’s been wheeling, stealing, taking all my feelings.
I’ve spent too much time kneeling.
My thoughts are jumbled.
I don’t know what to feel.
I want to say more,
But I’m not sure.
If I stay, I might become a bore.
I’d rather not be mentally sore.
No, I’d rather feel like folklore.
Unattainable, with a touch of womanly intrigue and lure.
You made it.
You reached that point in your life,
Where you’re done with the worry and strife.
You wished things stayed the same,
Not realizing that it was nothing but a game.
Gone are the days of blasting music from a busted car,
even though you remember those warm crazy nights from afar.
You did things that you now laugh about.
You danced until your feet throbbed.
You fell in love until you sobbed.
You made mistakes,
Which often ended in backaches.
Mais tu as grandi.
You’re no longer that bright-eyed pup.
Breathe in the fresh air,
Ignore the dare,
And take care.
Laugh at the ones before you,
Sit down and watch them stew,
While you catch a breath and take a brew.
Welcome to womanhood.
I don’t like being torn.
I say yes, but I don’t mean it.
I say no, but eyes say otherwise.
It’s not fair.
Making you out to be a mind reader.
But it’s what I want.
I need for you to decide.
I need you to tell me otherwise.
Pouvez-vous voir ce que mon desir ardent pour moi me fait?
Say you’ll stay even when I scream at you to go.
Say yes even when I sound bitter and tell you no.
I’m a small disaster you see.
I don’t I’ll ever just be.
I looked up,
And you were there.
I tried to speak,
But you shook your head.
I stepped back.
You walked forward.
“I went too far,” you said.
“I took too much,” you pled.
“I should’ve tried,” you shouted.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to fight.
Anything but feel this.
This burning in my chest.
This racing heart.
“I lost myself along the way with you,” I spoke quietly.
I walked forward.
You stepped back.
You tried to speak,
But I shook my head.
“No. It’s my turn to speak.”