Your mother tongue,
Vernacular,
Manipulation,
Power plays,
Calling shots,
And taking names,
For your list of targeted games,
You had to be the brightest bulb,
To lead the charge,
To pop shit off.
I figured you were fun back then,
We grew up and you never changed,
I hope you know I miss you, though,
So sick of your shit I had to go,
I thought that you were fun back then
I spoke the language too,
But the vocab gets all hazy now
The more time I go through
My tongue and speech
Can't match your speed
My lingo slips away,
I used to use your language
But now I don't know what to say.
YOU ARE READING
Nocturnalisms
PoetryAll of the hiding, it's because of the hunt And if they haven't chased you, Then you don't know enough to judge... Nocturnalisms is a collection of poems about living with night owl tendencies, seeing through narcissists and their mind games, experi...
