Here's a little something I've cooked for you my love.
My special recipe for disaster:
Over filled cups poured onto you;
Cups loaded with steaming snarky remarks,
tearing tantrums,
silent escapes,
and charcoal black days.
Blended with a toss of blame,
along with
a hand-full of guilt trips.
As for the dressing:
a bowl of your tears,
a pinch of your weight,
and a drizzle of flowers.
And with this I fed you and stuffed you till
from me you can no longer digest.
And now you're as fed up as one can be.
Fed up with my bullshit,
my drama,
my rage.
Fed up to the point where you shared my recipe with me.
Brutally honest remarks and
silence when I try to lure you into a quarrel.
Because you know better now.
You know better than getting tangled up
into one of my arguments.
Saving your breath for things you believe are worth it,
things that are not me.
You made sure that I got a taste of every bitter moment I fed you
And as much as I deserve it,
the bitterness still stings.
And my recipe of disaster came right back to me.
YOU ARE READING
Behind Her Eyes: A Collection of Poetry.
PuisiHere are my words, thoughts, and most importantly, all the feelings I burry. I've finally gathered the courage to share them, and to share a part of me. Here are the thoughts that visit me through the night put into words; of all there is to fee...
