bronze
was the colour of a third place winner
not quite as beautiful as silver and gold
but still, it was craved.
i was the colour bronze in your eyes
a shiny metal that you added
to your collection
you did not need me
not did you truly want me.
you made that obvious when you
littered my skin with bruises
that did not belong.
i told you i did not like hickeys
and you ignored me
because i am not who you truly want
so you used me until you could
find your silver and gold.
YOU ARE READING
poetry
Şiirpoetry is when an emotion has found its thought, and the thought has found words -robert frost. all poems are mine unless stated otherwise. just thought i'd give someone a taste of my mind. #4 in ode
