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Amanda Grant Poem
Our childhood was selfish reign
did nothing but cause personal pain
our parents did naught for the self-worth gain
but ridiculed us into shame.
All our lives we tried to change
the internal dialogue negative was
rejection hounded like a savage dog
not able to let go of its forming fog.
We ran away to seek our fortunes
but self destruct was meant to be
life was hard, a test you see
the best wasn't meant to be.
The least we knew, but wanted more
why not settle the shameful score
because rejection sits at the core
keeping love outside the door.
I know the answer! Self-help books adorn
read with fever but left forlorn
happiness clouded as I now morn
left wishing I was never born.
Everything I've tried was to heal
this became my Achilles Heel.
The wheel of life, the circle done
I accept my lot, rejection won.
Copyright © Amanda Grant | Year Posted 2014
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Details |
Amanda Grant Poem
My sister Bridget loves her widgets,
the box-set goes beyond her digits,
never mind, she is addicted,
that's not what we predicted.
To save money, she tries to convince,
as no TV licence does she subscribe,
but a million box-sets no word of a lie.
It's ironing I need the boxes for,
it piles up from the floor,
her lies galore, we try to ignore.
Twelve hours a day she watches gore,
neglecting those at her core,
she simply can't fit in anymore.
But that's okay cause life's a chore,
it's box-sets, so I'm not a bore,
Hustle, Spook's behind closed door.
NCIS, Gibbs isn't for me,
nor is the notorious box-set Glee,
It's Grey's Anatomy, that's fine with me.
Bones, a forensic scientist I am,
Shield is the agent I want to be,
but ironing is my destiny.
I shame myself through box-set guilt,
instead I should be making a quilt,
but on the sofa I tend to lilt.
My son is home, husband too,
there's no time for box-set glue,
a family I know, we are but true.
Copyright © Amanda Grant | Year Posted 2014
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