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Submitted Date 10/01/2019
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One day,
I met you on 34th street and 8th avenue.
I was craving for your presence
and you hungered for mine.
Time showed us we were merely comfort
food to each other.

Heavy bites to clogged arteries and common sense.
Relentless wrenching of my foundation.
You attempted to build a home out of me
when there was one already present.


Well…
I left my own home of
dignity, peace and Grandma's good wisdom
to go gallivanting down streets my gut
told me to give no second glance.
I went gallivanting down blocks
I've seen friends have their teeth and peace
knocked out of.
Their dreams
now fertilize the lawns of lack luster
companions.


One day,
I met you on 34th Street and 8th avenue.
Looked into your eyes
and
called you home.
Yet, it appears
love never paid me a visit.
I'd send words of encouragement in a bouquet of
reassurance and yet love never
responded to me.
I reached out in poems.
Shrunk my radiance for it.
Let go of my essence for it.
Dusted the beautiful relics in the living room and
ignored the foreign hands trying to gloss your lips.

Infatuation, manipulation and quiet skeletons
nailed the floor boards down.

You'd tell me there were no nails as the screws
pricked the bottom of my feet with each step.

The windows were always foggy
I was always cleaning out that
damn drain.
With your rose colored glasses
and that gate to cover your pain,
you never saw the mess.
Never addressed the mosquitoes biting my legs in the kitchen.
You'd just sit on the couch and lotion yourself
in gloss and regurgitated words.
You said
I was what you were looking
for

as I stood there and
watched you pluck my feathers
and hush my dignity to the corners of the attic
thinking maybe I was just too much.

I'd stand up for myself,
you called me self-centered.
Pulled the rug from underneath me

when I called you out on your bullshit.
I let you burn me...
Set my quintessence a blaze.
Let the embers snow in every inch of our bedroom.
Luckily you never cared too much to know me.
I am phoenix, baby.
So as I rose out of my ashes and pushed through molting season.
I ceased cleaning home.
Ignored the floored boards,
ceased arguing to be seen at eye level

and strut out the door.

I used to look into your eyes
and call you home,
yet it appears
love never paid me a visit.
I'd send words of encouragement in a bouquet of
reassurance and yet love never
responded to me.
Infatuation, manipulation and quiet skeletons
nailed the floor boards down

and you had the nerve to ridicule
my naked strength to leave home and
visit love for myself.
How dare you.

 

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