My thoughts carry me
in gusting winds
to the things that I should have said.
Repeating moments that could have been,
imagining the space in time
where I took a deep breath
replaced by the pain I should have spoke to.
The moment when…
I’m fed up and burst
with the venom
that has been held back on my tongue
for the sake of your attention
until patience is no longer my grace
and I can’t look at you with kindness.
My anger a seed that rumbles in my chest
which grows rapidly like vines
out of my limbs
wrapping around my torso and lips
until it is all consuming,
and I, a deadly flower that you must’n pick.
In that moment,
my thoughts are carried to you
on the wind
falling short of your deaf ears
and egotistical stare
which stops me in my tracks.
The pain retreating into me suddenly,
the vines a shadow presence.
The futileness robs my vocal cords
just as suddenly as a storm ends.
Each time I’m taken there,
the wind stops abruptly at the dead end
which is your cold heart
and I’m left to sit
in the self loathing presence,
where the venom still lingers on my tongue
and my disappointment leaves me
a woman with less to give.
Poetry on Paper 