PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I'm sorry.

I wanted to tell you my life

is the color and texture of day old oatmeal

and moves at a snails pace,

and even leaves behind that slightly shiny sticky

slime,

see through snail lace.

I thought I would amount to more,

and maybe that you would too,

but we turned out to be one of those couples that

are sweet but dry in their compliancy and

habits of love.

Sometimes I feel dried out on a path that everyone walks.

I miss the days when I was wild,

exherting absolute control over my body and mind

like that of a theft stealing jewels,

I was stealing time.

I was a dancer to the fastest beat but

so graceful and steady on my feet.

Now I feel nothing but defeat,

this song is slow and simple.

I want to dance.

I want to show these boys who I am.

I want to need a reason to stay alive

and drink these poisons every night.

But love feels so gray.

I live too much by day.

Becoming the texture of oatmeal.