I open up in your hands


poetictapestry:

MissingSomething’s wrong with me.I just knew that.I always know that.I walk like a cat missing its tail.I talk like a bard missing his tale.I bark like a poem missing its poet.I joke like a country dame so dumbClumsily biting her nail,Tripped by her feet so frailShocked by her face so palePursued by a galeDrowned in a dale.Something’s missing here.It has to be my wit,My grit,My gut,My saving kit,My bit of bite,My hit and run,My fire that’s already lit,My heart that’s dumped in a pit,Since the very first minute we met,The very next second we split.Then nothing can be perfectly fit.Have you ever seen a doe in heat?A buck in rut?Stuck in a rut, such a nitwit,Rot in hell, such holy shit.Such a slut,With scars wide open slit,That’s totally nuts.You, a habitual, unrepentant thief on bail,Stole what’s missing in me,And never returned it.Like a phantom you vanished from an exit;Again I wonder if we ever existed. What’s missing here are sparks a fire spits,Petals around which butterflies flit,A nocturne sung by a nightingale,The sea and favorable wind for a boat to sail,Floral fragrance, flamboyance, with a flair,Spring will passionately greet,A love story so great for coming generations to tell.Thus I will arrest you. I swear with Holy Grail. Put you in jail,Where you’ll forever sit.I shall never quit.I shall never fail.You watch out, better run like a snail.Store what you’ve stolen well.Never break it, forget it, or discard it.Never fix it, seal it, and send it.Without my permit,You should never put it on sale.It’s too valuable to be in market.You hear me?It’s a voice too loud for you to quell. Then I won’t miss you like hell. View Larger

poetictapestry:

Missing

Something’s wrong with me.
I just knew that.
I always know that.
I walk like a cat missing its tail.
I talk like a bard missing his tale.
I bark like a poem missing its poet.
I joke like a country dame so dumb
Clumsily biting her nail,
Tripped by her feet so frail
Shocked by her face so pale
Pursued by a gale
Drowned in a dale.

Something’s missing here.
It has to be my wit,
My grit,
My gut,
My saving kit,
My bit of bite,
My hit and run,
My fire that’s already lit,
My heart that’s dumped in a pit,
Since the very first minute we met,
The very next second we split.
Then nothing can be perfectly fit.
Have you ever seen a doe in heat?
A buck in rut?
Stuck in a rut, such a nitwit,
Rot in hell, such holy shit.
Such a slut,
With scars wide open slit,
That’s totally nuts.

You, a habitual, unrepentant thief on bail,
Stole what’s missing in me,
And never returned it.
Like a phantom you vanished from an exit;
Again I wonder if we ever existed.

What’s missing here are sparks a fire spits,
Petals around which butterflies flit,
A nocturne sung by a nightingale,
The sea and favorable wind for a boat to sail,
Floral fragrance, flamboyance, with a flair,
Spring will passionately greet,
A love story so great for coming generations to tell.

Thus I will arrest you. I swear with Holy Grail.
Put you in jail,
Where you’ll forever sit.
I shall never quit.
I shall never fail.
You watch out, better run like a snail.
Store what you’ve stolen well.
Never break it, forget it, or discard it.
Never fix it, seal it, and send it.
Without my permit,
You should never put it on sale.
It’s too valuable to be in market.
You hear me?
It’s a voice too loud for you to quell.

Then I won’t miss you like hell.


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