Throne

Standard

I’m on my prime,
And if you want to pressure me,
Just know that,
I’ll mark that crime.
Throw me under the side;
Call it whatever you want.
I’m right on time,
Where I’m supposed to be.
One day at a time,
I’ll sit on that throne.
Learn to love it,
Not to lose it,
Just one more time.

My prime is pushing me,
And asking me,
To work much harder.
I won’t let it down,
You can question me,
But I’ll wear that crown.
Now bow down,
And answer me;
Who’s in charge.
Look around and back,
Know that I’m sitting high and large.

Cared For

Standard

He forgot to water the plant this month,
And now it’s withering to pieces;
Shriveled, yet ceases,
To maintain it’s form.
It’s rather the norm.
I came to water the plant myself.
I couldn’t let it die right before my eyes.
Breathe easy;
Hide heavy sighs.
I’ll give this plant all the sunlight it needs.
I’ll even learn to harvest new seeds.
This plant is mine now.
Watch the care that I give it;
Watch the sweat fall of my brow.

Looters

Standard

She’s scared of being hurt.
He’s afraid of losing what he’s got;
Little does he know he doesn’t have squat.
She doesn’t want to be someone else’s dirt.
No, she doesn’t want to be the forgetful remnants,
Meaningless segments,
At the bottom of his shoe;
And he’s always searching for something better and new.
Something out of the blue.
Maybe he’s tired of waking up,
Feeling chummy,
Looking funny,
Wondering when his well will dry;
When he’s looking down at an empty cup,
No reason to try;
More reason to cry.
Better to wing it,
Than die.
So she’s back on her own,
Alone,
Wondering whether she’s happy,
To have known,
That she dodged a bullet,
To bone.
And he’s wondering whether he can live to be young,
Passionate,
But done.
The game has ended.
All wounds were tended.
No winners or losers,
There were just players and looters.
They both took what they wanted,
And then they departed,
Carrying each others’ anxieties;
Losing sight of priorities.
Least they can say they’re content with their lot,
Though they lost,
Their pride says not.
Reason was cost,
Feelings were free,
So they let them go,
Trying to be stingy and be,
The keeper of what each other would sow.
No one wanted to reap what they started.
So they both left, then darted.
Leaving a messy trail in their footsteps,
No roads leading back to them.
Best believe they’re all dead to them.
All the pain is what they have to show.
No,
Just the light of their afterglow.
Faint,
But it lights the snow.

Old Skin

Standard

I want to build myself up.

I’ll stand outside my threshold,

And fix it up from the outside in.

 

We both know the inside is the harder of the two.

It’s that elastic skin that expanded as I, myself, grew.

Now I have to stretch it out a little bit more;

Cut it off where past scars visibly tore.

 

I want to be resilient like never before.

They say not everyone can find a way to bounce right on back.

Well, I said I only needed one painstaking shot;

One breathtaking blow.

Once you see me win,

You’ll lose that grin,

Seeing me shed my own skin.

 

 

A Lurker on the Loose

Standard

She’s got two more drinks,

Before

She’ll be crashing on the floor.

Take one last look;

I swear you’ll thank me.

 

Someone mixed this punch up good.

You can barely taste,

Despair.

Now find your hook.

You’re running out of time.

 

Look!

There and there,

I swear they’re everywhere.

Just find the one,

That appeals to your odd taste.

 

I can sense it now.

Your thirst can drench a lake.

Now who’s it going to be tonight?

Maybe the redhead on table three,

Just remember that,

You can never run from

Me.

Sacrilege

Standard

You won’t see me standing there,

Beside the broken.

Hearts flat,

With arms apart and wide open.

Carry me home, inside your suitcase.

Build me back up,

And title this: sacred.

 

 

The Poet Queen

Standard

I don’t want to drop some beats;

I want to lay down these lines.

I’m not here to tell you about my streets.

No, I’m here to plaster my signs.

I got a message to say.

 

My words are too precious for that.

I’m not a rap god,

Throwing shade at your squad.

I’m a person with these words I want to hang up.

Dangle in front of you.

Fashion, not to forgetfully spew.

 

 

I’m not throwing them at you,

Firing at you,

I’m speaking to you;

Strategically giving more than you can chew.

 

I may not go as fast as you go,

Or work it as well as you do,

But I can make an art out of words that you’ll mumble around.

They’d get lost in the sound,

But I have a place for them.

 

Blister my tongue indecorously so.

And be surprised when I vitriolically spit back,

So tastefully though.

Throw me that fire,

I’ll make you a sword.

I’ll play upon your satire;

Leave you with too little to afford.