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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Jaded. Cascaded. Faded. I retaliated. Alienated. Isolated. I changed it. Reframed it. Battered it into submission. The abyss that ignored my name— That stagnant stage that stayed the same— I busted it up. Tore it apart. With teeth, with nails, with rage. My bitterness, boxed in a cage. I am a woman scorned. Properly, pointedly warned About playing nice with unkind boys— I did it anyway. I’ll do it again. Unless stopped by a trainwreck In a leather coat, pockets packed With heavy flicker hymns and haunted facts. Healing stab wounds with bare hands, Pressed to my bruised and cracked chest, Leaking regret. A man by any other name Still reeks of old spice and shame. I only need a joy ride Into the dreamscape’s drifting tide, Where trees bend low to bow and breathe, Their musk and pine a whispered wreath Inviting me into the realm Of lust, desire, and fire-fed calm. Branches brush my aching skin— A welcome wrapped in woodland hymn. I am not that complicated. Though my pain, layered and laminated Like geological canyons carved in stone, Matches my internal rue— A structure built to stand alone. I can grow a man roses from rubble. Just give me rosaries, rubies, and rubels. I admit my earthly needs. I am an investment, not a scheme. I saw a world I hated. I sublimated. Evaporated. Changed my state of being— From rigid to roaming, mist into meaning. Cold datapoints and sterile streams Reformed into wisdom, stitched into dreams. He tried to hold me subdued. Silenced my dreams with histrionic moods. Overwhelmed my senses, With intentions sharp and sentences crude. I was a prisoner of shame. And there I remained For a near decade. I broke the chains. Escaped the plush, performative pain Of pseudo-companionship’s velvet cage. Now I’m agitated and raw— Midway through my emotional overhaul As I transform from meek to sleek, From silence to sovereign speech. I will not take silence as an answer. I will shake loose your response. You cannot ignore me in oblivion. I am here to stay. You have the option: To be a benefactor Or de facto arch enemy—I know. I am aware of where I stand, And what I wield in my streamlined hands. I am not simply a pretty creature. I am not solely for looking. I want touch—not merely tender, But true. Is that you?
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