Laura Breidenthal Poet Rhyme

Inadequate Tool

I feel the familiar burn of abandonment
A feeling that anyone sane would resent
And yet I bask in it—the disconcerted lament

Angrily I tear at the seas and weeds of lies
Saying nothing but curses—bidding goodbyes
Painstakingly waiting for the cruel waters to rise

But you never rose, you fool!
You graded me into your gruel
An inadequate tool—yes, a screwed up tool!

Here I am again and no one has won
Feeding on the nothingness you willingly spawn
Nothing but GONE—who the hell won!?

I thought you were a journey’s rest!
But you are nothing but a wrong-turned address
Spilling me over in a bloody, dead mess

I want to turn away tonight
And never look your direction
Because no matter how hard, I cannot fight
The seas of succulent depression!

You were fixed
At the expense of my misery
At the expense of an inadequate tool

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Timothy Hicks March 21, 2013 at 12:53 AM I hate those disagreements that end so badly you don't feel as though as anybody had anything to gain from it... just raw frustrated emotions going awry. The words you use to express yourself are sharp and biting, and in the end no matter how far you distance yourself from this person there are still those scars that remain. Excellent writing skills Laura!

David Scott September 28, 2012 at 9:57 AM nice itrospection like the lines you were a journeys rest and wrong turned address xx davidscott

Justin Bordner September 27, 2012 at 1:39 PM Funny how other people's doubt of us can feed an undying desire to excel - I love it when others doubt my spirit, it spurs a handsome rage in me - this divinely sordid poem reminds me that I thrive when in agony and false criticisms my friend - once more you have given us professional imagery - J.A.B. % nice use of 'gruel'!

Dan Kearley September 19, 2012 at 8:59 PM Yup,yup...There's that pain. The seas of succulent depression.Strong words here,but you make me smile with them for some reason? :o)

Chuck Novotny September 16, 2012 at 11:12 PM You've exposed much of yourself in this! Why do we bask in our pain, or contemplate the succulent nature of our depression? Oh, sweet misery. . . Perhaps that is where our true muse lies? Great writing. Chuck

Poet Destroyer A September 16, 2012 at 12:26 AM Some requirements are hard fix.. your poem is very deep Laura, love your pride... xox~pd