Violence Boyfriend Poems | Violence Poems About Boyfriend
These Violence Boyfriend poems are examples of Violence poems about Boyfriend. These are the best examples of Violence Boyfriend poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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Changes in 3/4 time.
Can't split a dime.
But you can sure waltz out the door.
Sound of your combat boots on the floor.
I hear the door slam
flies be damned
he's off to Memphis
head long down a pipe line
cutting cards and turning life loose
train stations and bus stations
take you north
to the Big Muddy
A catfish dream
and Mud Island
I'll stay home with my disease
Watch it all on TV
till he shows up at my door
bigger than life
but I got a gun
and I shoot him down
now I got my red beans cookin'
Yeah I got my red beans cookin'
Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2014
Why don’t you love me?
The small brown eyed girl asked her father as he beat her at night,
then with a smile in the morning he’d scoop her up in his arms to play.
Why don’t you love me?
The bigger brown eyed girl asked her father as he walked out and
never came back.
Why don’t you love me?
The young brown eyed girl asked her boyfriend of two years,
As he walked out the same door her father did eight years before.
Never to return.
Why didn’t you love me?
The older brown eyed girl asked her father at his funeral.
As she leaned over the edge of his casket and kissed him gently on the forehead,
Tears running down her cheeks.
Why couldn’t you love me?
The oldest brown eyed girl asked as she lays Jasmine’s and roses
On her father’s grave.
Only a row down from her old boyfriend’s,
With love that never dies.
And her question is answered in the wind,
As the answer is whispered in her heart.
How could you love me?
If you couldn’t love yourself?
Copyright © Jazmine Russell | Year Posted 2013
I forgave you once, for your behavior
I forgave you twice, for your actions
all the while you're stabbing my heart with a butcher knife
with Every Strike!
I take a bow
Lord, let me live somehow!
I promise, I'll leave him tomorrow!
I beg and I plead for my life
As my nose bleeds blood onto the floor
You strike me again and call me a whore!
I can't take it, I gasp for breath as you try to
Choke me to death
Something breaks the trance, a knock at the door
"Stay here you evil witch" you whisper as you fling my head to the side
I moan, and I cry, wonder~how could I end up with this type of guy
I shudder when I hear the door slam shut
cuz I know you'll only be nice for a while,
you'll walk around with that pretty smile,
You'll give me hugs, kisses, cuddles and great sex
You'll cook for me, clean the house, take me out
Everyday you're ripping my stitches out
because I forgive you time and time again
And your actions Never Change
You're not a nice man.
And you don't deserve me at my best or at my worst.
You don't deserve my forgiveness;
so you're getting my curse
2-18-15 for Forgiveness Poetry Contest.
Copyright © Butterfly Mantra | Year Posted 2015
*habebty: arabic for my love
*context: this year (2014) is the third anniversary since the egyptian revolution
Friday, he told me,
"Tomorrow will be a sad day."
"Why?" I asked.
"The anniversary of the revolution."
When I had google searched "january news egpyt"
the day before to see if any new protests had occured to
block the streets and make him come home late,
the results still showed the carnage of three years ago.
There would be protests tomorrow.
I asked him if he was going to work.
I wouldn't tell him
Not to go to the protest-
I knew I would have gone too-
Shouldn't I support what he believes?
But then I think
Bloodstains on streets
Littered with banners
Like the departing souls
Of the martyrs of the revolution
Riot gear uniforms
Beat down protesters;
They've sworn to arrest
Anyone protesting today-
I ask him where he is.
"I'm home, habebty."
He's decided not to go
Since he thinks it's wrong
To celebrate on a day
So many have died.
I breathe again.
Nearly 50 died that weekend.
I got to hear,
I'm home, habebty.
Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2014
driving fast on the freeway
because my baby's got a gun.
the new millennial bonnie and clyde.
you know we're always on the run.
i have the bags, filled with cash.
he's got the diamonds, in our stash.
they'll never catch us,
so we laugh
for those scrambling on our behalf.
the way we're rushing,
i know i'm blushing
because i'm doing it for the thrill.
now, we got half a mill
in the trunk of my v8 ford
and another memory safety stored.
riding around like it's our death car,
guided by the north star.
by the time they catch me and my man
we'll be sitting first class
on a flight to japan
with a stranger's identity in my back pocket
and a fugitive's heart in a stolen locket.
Copyright © Evelyn Rose | Year Posted 2016