Poetry Blogs (the end)
I liked the way he looked at me
Like I was the only thing he could see
or that was worth looking at.
I liked the smile he made for me
A tailored face, specifically
to tell me what he couldn't say.
I liked the things that went unsaid
The message in the nod, the tilt of his head,
the eye contact held too long.
I liked his arms, skin brushing skin
Friday 18th January 2019 6:05 pm
Call me the doormat,
The infestation of rats,
The ‘oh she ain’t all that’,
Call the kettle black!
Call me the diva, the princess, the moan bag,
The emotional one, oh isn’t it sad?
The hot head who can only nag nag nag,
That period trainwreck – a handful for a lad.
Call me whatever deflects most from what reflects
When you stand by the mirror and boast,
Thursday 29th September 2016 3:40 pm