Bewitched by your mesmerizing mind,
Enchanted by your endless mystery,
Sweet words left me blind,
An artificial bond bound us,
Eyes now open to the immense misery,
You chewed me up and spat me out.
I refuse to ask if I was good enough,
Actions heavier than words,
He held the rose,
Lifted it up to his nose,
Enjoyed its sweet fragrance,
He crushed the flower and stomped on it,
Shortly after draining its essence,
Disposable beauty at his fingertips.
The flower must return to soil,
Dragging her petals to the dirt,
Once again this rose will rise despite the pain,
Perhaps her petals will bloom once again,
This time she will not be broken by hurt,
This time she will prick them with her thorn.
An open minded individual
Who thrives in solitude
Cursed with a cloud of blue
She tries to find the warmth,
Compassion intertwined with despair.
Relying merely on an absence of nurture,
Although there was always an abundance of affection,
Turns to the love of nature,
In contrast to the haze;
The green heals the mind,
To an extent that one will never empathize,
Unless their lips are also chained to the pipe. -t.r
When I was in my first years of college my forensics coach, a poet and performer himself, handed me a book to research for a piece I was compiling. I took it with me on a road trip and stayed up all night pouring over the pages again and again and again. It was the first ever book of poems that I fell in love with. Mindy Nettifee’s Sleepyhead Assassins. *
“The First Time” from that collection.
Happy International Poetry Day.