PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Yes, it’s brining me down

You got me.

You stood at the top of your mountain

Screaming, yelling, she’s a loser, liar, and bitch.

While not saying you were not the victim.

Everyone is wrong but you.



Sitting in the tower.

I moved from being a ranch hand, slave, and servant to being me.

Moving with my family from an apartment to a townhouse.



You tapped in my anima.

I shared my varatous with you.

My opening to ten years of wounds.

I trusted when I hadn’t for a decade.



I will no longer share my tears.

The unlikely heartache of the promise of friendship yet handwork of someone who

Holds an angry enigma of emotions.



Even the medical staff around me said,  “you’re not safe there.”

“ Why does that person need you?”



I am no longer someone to take advantage of.

I will not cry over your words of anger.

You are right to say when my friends and family call that the bitch doesn’t live her anymore.

For I never “LIVED” there, only died.