He might act big for you
But behind the doors he’s kind,
A family man through and through.
He cries – yet denies.
He bleeds – yet will tease.
But behind the doors he’s kind,
A family man through and through.
If they challenged him he will not tolerate…
He is twisted like that – a true thug.
He will use his means – so it seems.
But behind the doors he’s kind,
A family man through and through.
Look in his eyes – a merciless dealer –
He’ll tear someone apart,
So don’t overstep the mark.
Yes – quite kind – to some (few, really).
But behind the doors he’s kind,
A family man through and through.
#ProjectInspiredPoetry
Haiku of Weird Friendship
Stupid dumb deaf blind,
my friend from a time ago –
you’re still weird you know.
Guilty nervous smile
Why so scared?
Is that a hint of guilt in your
nervous smile?
Do you think you hurt me?
Is that what it is?
Don’t tremble at my scars.
It was only a small trial…
You hurt me, but I’m okay now.
I promise.
I promise.
It’s only my life.
Balloon Person
I don’t want you to be a balloon person:
They mustn’t twist you
and turn you
and tie you up.
Squeeze you full of this filthy air
and let them pay for you.
You’re worth more.
I don’t want them shaping you,
they mustn’t touch you.
I can’t stand to hear you squeal
as they twist your form to what they want.
Nobody must treat you like a toy;
draw on a face of lies
and then forget about you…
Leave you to deflate
or burst your form into
unrecognisable features
as all the air in your body escapes
and you’re forgotten about
without a care or tear.
He loves her
Under the misty moonlight
and the thick fog rolling out the club,
I saw him standing with her.
They were next to a blue car –
she was wearing crimson
and he a smile.
In that moment the beat dropped
and their spirits soared.
Nothing else mattered for them;
only the warm embrace of the other.
Consequence of Cheating
I can’t do this anymore.
But I love you.
No, no you don’t.
Why are you acting like this?
Get away from me – I saw what you did.
You don’t understand.
I understand perfectly…
It was just one night.
Just one night? Is that what I’m worth?
I’m sorry okay!
Sorry means nothing.
I’ve never felt like this about someone before…
Neither have I – it hurts doesn’t it? Just like your lies.
No – don’t leave me! Put the gun down! NO!
And then it all went black.
Let the work speak not the title
Poems are supposed to be written in a specific form and deal with important subject matter and have the punctuation required to heighten the artistic and social intention of the poet highlighting the socio-political context from which the work emerges well some of the greatest happenings have happened from challenging what is and what should be in the eye of the creator for that is art and when art is caged by people who believe they have authority on freedom of thought that is when creativity dies so just know this is a poem because I wrote it and I am a poet so don’t tell me how to think creatively
Dialling…
The poem you are trying to access is currently unavailable.
Please try again later.
(When the poet doesn’t feel abused.)
Little Boy Syndrome
Only little boys
believe that sharks
can eat crocodiles
stop it now
go find some
big boy toys.
Unless they do
in which case
I’ll still judge you
because I’m shallow.
Lost… again
He’s lost again –
gone wandering in the concrete jungle.
Fifth time this week.
He usually comes back when hungry –
I wonder what he does…
Is it drugs? Or worse?
Who does he meet up with?
Does he at all?
He doesn’t seem to care.
Too innocent and unsuspecting…
But the world is cruel, my friend,
the world is cruel;
not fun and games like a
Tom and Jerry episode.
This is real life.
With real problems.
Mr Individualist 