You’re allowed to
Strangle me but
If I point out the
Rope burns then
I’m being toxic
❀
You can cut me open
But if I scream
I’m burying you in blame
That is not yours
❀
You’re allowed to
Press a flame to my skin
But if I show you the burns
I’m putting you down
❀
You can cover my mouth
But if I point a finger
In your direction
I’m starting a fight
For no reason
❀
You’re allowed to
Slit my throat but
I can’t get any blood
On your clothes
(It’s a pity it’s all over your hands)
❀❀❀❀❀
The Rest of the Series:
(Doesn't need to be read in chronological order)
About the Creator
Poppy
poetry in progress
When Big Bands Played on every station 📻
When big bands ruled the world, with live broadcast each night. A slow world. A sentimental world. A world that believed in God. In LOVE. A world after the war that appreciated the small things, the community and most importantly family above all else. What a beautiful world that was of values. If we could only add progression to old school morality then maybe one would have less suffering. A book I read often from the 1950 states “if suffering made the world wise, a wise world it would be” after the world wars what a wise world we were becoming. If progression could meet slowness, like the Italian say “the art of doing nothing” what a peaceful world we would have. Big Bands brought in peace in a time the world didn’t know the end, each night the news goes off, did a love one die? Is your family now just a Jayne or Joe doe somewhere out there? Well forget your troubles we are all in this together- here is Glenn Miller and his Big Bands singing it’s a blue world, the moonlight serenade begins for a hour where you forget your troubles and melt in with the big band. Once the war was over those late night broadcasts became coming home dances. For a moment to me that was a beautiful world. Radio Days. Glenn miller and his orchestra playing live lifting spirits. A beautiful world that must had been for that moment. To be alive and to be appreciative of every second God Has given you.
By La Regina💗Kallie Venturini❤️2 days ago in Poets
Miss Persephone's Manual to a Seemingly Ordinary Life
Miss Persephone was found at the dining table, her blue eyes swollen, her tears arriving and retreating like the tides of the ocean. Earlier that day, her family had visited her in the retirement home where she had lived for eight years. It was her eightieth birthday.
By Imola Tóth5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (8)
Wow. Another powerful peace. Well done.
Lol 😆 Love it ❤️😉💯👌📝🚶
A bludgeoning continuation from the first part. Very graphic! I loved it.
Same comment as for the first. I feel ya, man.
Woof… i’ve been there. Uncomfortable to relive but necessary. Thank u for sharing ❤️
Gorgeous conclusion. I like how it's sharper and punchier than the first part - really reminded me of feeling emotional exhaustion after a long, drawn-out toxic relationship.
This hit me so much!!! Amazing poem!
I love the blood on your clothes line! Great work!