more.bad.poetry

where awkward private thoughts become public knowledge.


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Storm

Hard came the rains; rumbling thunder overhead shook the house.

The glass in the windows shook menacingly and threatened to shatter and scatter onto the dark floor.

Clouds colored dusky gray blocked out the once visible scattering of stars. Not even the moon, powered by sunlight, could shine through.

As the storm continued the roof sagged under the weight of the water and then shook violently. Creak, shake, creak, shake.

Hours passed with the house swaying in the storm; attacked on all fronts by an invisible enemy. A surprise attack on an unfortified structure.

But then more hours passed, and the thunder gave way to grumpy rumblings. The rain became lazy and slow. The dark clouds were pinpointed with glimpses of a shining night sky; you could just make out the outline and faint glow of the moon.

The storm subsided, finally, and the house stood proudly in triumph. Windows can be replaced, the roof built stronger.

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Greed

I worshiped gold.
My eyes followed the light wherever it went –
Oh, I was mesmerized by the glint of something so precious.
Something that seemed tangible and attainable,
A gleam that made me warm when it shined across my face.
Like sunshine, but richer.
But reaching out to hold a little magic in my hand
Light fell through my fingers like sand,
landed at my feet, dry and dull.
In wanting to hold it I smothered it
And the world seems less like colors and more like blues and greys.


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Little Lights

How likely was it, how would I have guessed
Any of the things that happened after you kissed me;
that one time in the middle of the street in the middle of the night.
It was like in that moment some invisible cord tied us together.
And I knew your thoughts, and you knew mine,
and we talked about serious things over milkshakes,
And slept contented in our comfort of one another.

Hardly seems fair, does it?
To go from that to this, to month-long silences and second guessing.
To fall asleep with a burning chest, snuggled in misery like a blanket.
When we don’t know, or won’t admit, whether the cord was frayed or cut;
Not that it would matter now.

Strange to hear the echoes of my mental cries in the silence
And to feel a whole new range of emotion more powerfully
Than the way your fingers ran through my hair, or down my cheek.
Those things were tangible and they’re gone and in a way,
I’m gone.

Insomnia, staring out the window at the darkest part of night,
Stars sparkling like tiny glowing lanterns,
Night lights for the broken-hearted