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Down for the count

Hitting below the belt, is now your signature move.
Nurturing such a disregard for me.
Bruising my inner self, my words that always came up empty.
Spat out with blood and hope.
Your maturity sent me reeling, down to the mat.
Waiting for the bell.
You can tolerate me from afar you say.
Like breaking away from a hug, it leaves me devastated.
Yet I remain. Quiet and composed. Taught to hold my head up high.
Dodging intentional verbal daggers and manufactured truths.
Your truths, your reasoning. Your horse blinders on for style.
Over substance. Over my comfort.
Through this pedestal championing, you shoulder massaging.
Cuts deep the vein of my self-respect.
Making my feel ignorant to your perfect sane mind.
I stutter and slip, tripped up on your words.
Unable to reason or fight fire with fire. Caught in your orbit.
All this time wishing on a star that was merely your own satellite.
Just a poet in your world, trying to chase the undefinable.

Swimming to safety

Sat looking for the interruptions, dusting steel.
Climbing through barbed wire.
Coating the shattered glass with honey; that you make me lick.
Boxed up emotions, humming through a phone wire.
Twisting around us, seeping into my bones.
Swim with me in stupidity. Duck and cover until we drown.
They come into our little scene, gravitated by the angry words.
Goody gumdrops, the fall of Rome. The fall of the house of Usher.
The fall between states.
Leaving me here like coins lost down a couch.
Waiting for fingers to rescue me, to touch me deep.
(Please don’t try and tempt me now)
I’m heading in a new direction, so don’t tell me all these dreams are fake.
Sitting still and dodging catapults.
Ashamed to know you lost. Scratching words into me like ‘believe’.
Unbolt me and take me apart. Categorise and sermonise in your hypocrisy.
Shove me back into the truth.
We all go back to where we belong.