Controlling (Remove filter)
When His Words Become Hands
His words could become sharp as corners
And trap you there
Flailing in his grasp
They could pinch your skin
Until you cried
And cried
Throughout your shifts
They could catch your wrists and stop you
From moving on
From moving
They could lock the doors, no leaving
They could shame you and shrink you
They could come flying in from an open window,
A buzzing phon...
Monday 8th March 2021 7:27 pm
Be better he said
He is sad, he is hurting
No one ever told him he was wrong.
Spoilt and arrogant,
He had become.
Behaviour always accepted.
A love for himself,
he always expected perfection,
Nothing else.
It’s not his fault. He knew something was wrong,
an angel he searched for, an angel he won.
Another win, at his feet, treated her with deceit.
Ignored...
Monday 12th March 2018 12:30 am
Recent Comments
Tom Doolan on Poetry Is Pain
1 hour ago
David RL Moore on Too late too late
16 hours ago
Rolph David on Love The Light, Embrace The Rain
17 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The roads taken
21 hours ago
Red Brick Keshner on still, the Earth breathes
21 hours ago
Marnanel Thurman on The roads taken
21 hours ago
Red Brick Keshner on where shadows do not drown
21 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The Empty Streets of Ego’s March
22 hours ago
Larisa Rzhepishevska on The Policemen Arrest The Men.
23 hours ago
Ray Miller on The Empty Streets of Ego’s March
23 hours ago