Your words, so trite, severed my composure,
drenched in ambiguity, woved a patchwork of deceit.
I gauge my spirit to no longer seek refuge in the zone
of dejection you revile it to.
Forlorn is the entity that defines itself holier
for being revered, for being chosen.
Overt were my laborings of unrequited passions,
yet never contrite was your rejection.
Centered in the hazy mist of my yearnings,
banging my head against the vine of rigidity of
your emotions, I created the quintessential you.
From my heart's eye, a masculine perfection.
A dream, a dream needled in the fabrics
of a tattered tapestry, held together by the
pins of a unyielding contenance,
I stand jinxed, I plead drained.
I propose a writ, bearing my heart's signet.
Incarcerate the entrails of such a deceptive
composition, I find you guilty of feigning
to be a man, sentenced to a soul revival.
With my savior, Xanax, let me annotate
the kin I felt to the ramblings of a sane, though
disheartened mind, yet I am no longer confused,
you are no longer empowered to infuriate me.
I am so blown away by the repose of unambiguity!
marjorie joyce leslie
02/11/09
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Missed you.
