In the realm of conflicting emotions,
Where sweetness stirs a storm within,
I yearn to unleash my anger's commotion,
For words so tender, they pierce my skin.
Speak not of perfection, I implore,
Nor paint me a girl who gazes at stars,
Don't claim I'm the only one you adore,
Or a damsel who falls in love, leaving no scars.
Tell me instead of my laborious strife,
That I overthink, consumed by doubt,
Declare my insecurity a part of my life,
And confess you can live well without.
Tell me I'm unworthy of time and endeavor,
That my presence holds no significance,
Reveal that my worth you cannot measure,
And my existence sparks no reliance.
Don't caress my cheek, don't dry my tears,
Don't embrace me to offer solace and care,
Don't kiss me with love that magically clears,
Or promise to be there, always prepared.
Raise your hands, let anger be your guide,
Yell at my tears, let bruises mark my lips,
Abandon me when I'm broken inside,
Reveal the love that cruelty equips.
Don't show me affection with a tender soul,
Don't reveal what I struggle to believe,
Shield me from what I cannot control,
This sweetness, I despise, I hate, I grieve.
YOU ARE READING
Moans in the Wind
PoetryWhen we are hurt, we moan in pain. When we are happy, we moan in soft sighs. When we are in love, we moan in affection and pleasure. All of your moans are meant to be heard.
