When it Does Not Need to Be Said, it is True

Sun, 10/01/2017 - 22:30 -- ameliab

Passion pink

dripping from your words

only changes shades

to stain memories

with something sweet,

never bitter. In conflict,

forgiveness is a muse.

 

Contempt lies awake each night,

because it has no place here.

Never an experiment,

I have become independent

and still you are a part of me.

 

You are water, capable

enough to drown me,

but instead you carry my body

in your arms when I’m weary.

Sometimes storms toss the boat,

but no rogue waves.

 

Words are at a loss

when your actions

call my name.

Red lips, honey hair glide by,

but you don’t get hypnotized.

You notice I’m nervous

and make me bloom inside.

My thorns of yesterday have fallen.

If I was ever in pain, it is now forgotten.

 

Your smile reaches your eyes,

and if we fight, I don’t hold fear

in mine. You only say you want

to understand, and you learn

my language to take notes

on your hands.

I held them and

the ink is still there.

I know you care.

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

kelnic0626

This is extrodinary. 

ameliab

Aw, thank you!

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