I am a bad influence.
I am a wild thing.
There's a very sweet boy, perfectly kind and lovely, sweet looking and simple.
The good son, rich parents, athletic, strong, he thinks that I am what he wants.
But I am a wild thing,
He wants the sweet bubbling circus queen of only 19, who looks as innocent as she seems, with added curves that burst all the seams.
She is not who she seems.
She is me.
And I am a wild thing.
It's strange for me to think that He's too nice for me, I should want nice, and kind, and sweet.
But I am the razor blade queen of punk rock and Creekside street.
Can never tell if I'm blowing off smoke or steam, I live in my kushy haze of clouds and dreams.
I am not a virgin, my hearts not all that clean, my mind runs through the gutter and my eyes see vicious things.
All the little beasts,
They look for beats,
They look for me,
Their wild queen,
I am a wild thing.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the dark
PoetryTrigger warning. To be polite. These are poems I've written. In all honesty not the good ones. Or maybe they are. But they're not my print published ones. I'm not that brave. :)
