you're at my door
possibly someone with fats lips told you I had it
and it was easy to control
with the rainy night
came John.
like flies around sweat
he's a swarm around my door
manipulating my mine into wanting to look at his unwashed underwears
and touching the smell between his legs.
"Don't
you know that all I have to give I gave
so what is left
for you to want?
these left overs of cold cold regrets?"
there you stand
outside my peek hole
like the hound tracing the scent
left from
a female's fury.
YOU ARE READING
SPOKEN VOICES
PoetryI wanted someone to take an interest in me not as a pretty face but because I had something to say. I wanted my poetry to feel ugly. When I was a little girl, I was told, little girls should always act like a lady. I had to lose my voice just so...
