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Christom Bradley Poem
It has become customary for me to have someone laying in my bed ; to keep me warm when my covers can't
I guess its on set delusions in my head
That tricks me into believing this is what I need ,even if its from an ain't shit man,knowing what I know
Why do I allow him into my bed,to soak up my juices and eat of my bread
Receiving and deceiving
Playing mind games with my head; and I never get a thing no comittment and no ring
Conversations about emotions are revoked when leaving my lips traveling to his ear
Who am I to blame if I keep doing the same thing
That lands me right where I am
Time after time
I see potential and run with it
Without checking his credentials
I hear struggle and pain
Thinking he just need someone like me, cause I can change everything
Only to find out he was never a broken man but a breaker of hearts , have me wishing I knew this from the start
But maybe I did ,maybe my need to be needed or my desire to be wanted
Is the reason I find myself right back here again dealing with an ain't shit man
Copyright © Christom Bradley | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Christom Bradley Poem
I've raised myself for more than 12 long years; Never had a mother to console me in the midst of tears
I never had a mother to show how to be a "lady" or to cook & clean; Nor did I have a father to show me what a real man was or how one is suppose to treat me
So I fell prey to almost anything with promises of love
Just trying to fill a void
Mentally, emotionally, spiritually
It destroyed me til I became broken ,my never ending quest of feeling loved,
I degraded myself with ppl who didn't see value in me not even for the price in which we exchanged our sexual encounters
Becoming a commodity just to survive while folks were paid to care for me but aside from the check they didn't care where I laid my head;battling wars at home and at skool just because I looked unloved with newspaper and trapped rain water inside my shoes, no hairdos,no clothes that fit
So I sold my body for school supplies and clothes , so funny it was to laugh at my pain and b shunned when asking for help
Coming to grips with the fact that men didn't want me but for the size of my hips,lips,ass and how tight they thought my pussy could grip, I found solace in a bottle drinking morning,noon,& night which eventually stopped working so I started cutting into my veins not enough to die but numb my emotional pain,tried to overdose on pills but would never die; at night cried wondering why was I doomed to live when it was plain that no one gave a damn about me, I mean I was already stamped with a Whore tag just for trying to survive and got even worse when I got pregnant with my "tricks" baby 16 left to be a mother alone,but still moving from home to home,
I never could differentiate a healthy relationship from the bad because as long it showed signs of me receiving love I was hooked
Just a small page from a worst case scenario of a motherless child still trying to find my way with all my dysfunction
Copyright © Christom Bradley | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Christom Bradley Poem
She closes her eyes and begins to write the words of her story into her skin; plot thickens; affixiated with self- mutilation
So she watches as her veins cry dripping red tear stains all over her sheets & only then can she see and feel her words coming to life
Smiles even though its been awhile; Something about the pain makes it all seem so surreal and in the end.. bittersweet
Eyes enclosed with barren tear ducts; and pursed lips
The only words uttered are between her hand & razor as she carves her masterpiece
Her skin screams with each stroke but her pain tolerance holds her rationale hostage allowing her to keep writing; and in time everyone will read her story without ever hearing her speak
Creative writing is stained on her
sheets
Copyright © Christom Bradley | Year Posted 2017
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