Tag: rhyming-words

Teething Stage.

We’re in the teething stage.

Feverish.

Grumpy.

I can’t tell if you even want me.

We’re in the teething stage.

I think before it gets better, it’s going to get ugly.

We’re in the teething stage.

Uncomfortable.

Sometimes swollen.

Sometimes bloody.

We’re in the teething stage.

I shouldn’t have to try this hard for you to love me.

–S.

Shoebox.

Should I wear a heel,

or go for a suede feel?

Should I wear something leather,

pleather,

or scrap that idea altogether?

Should I tie up my laces,

will it get me faster to places?

Should I pick something with spikes,

or a pair meant for hikes?

Should I throw on some combat boots,

or stick to my roots?

Whatever I decide,

it can’t make me sway,

I don’t know what shoes to wear to walk away.

–S.

Goodnight Moon.

Goodnight butterflies.

Goodnight fireflies.

Goodnight crying eyes.

Goodnight laughing kisses,

and every day blisses.

Goodnight you.

Goodnight me.

Goodnight to all of the things we didn’t get to be.

Goodnight to all we did not see.

Goodnight love,

and goodnight again, to all of the above.

–S.

Woman in the Mirror.

I’m mad at god.

I want to cuss out the devil.

I’m not speaking to destiny,

and I blocked fate. 

Convinced I have bad luck, 

and I’m half woman, half hate. 

I’m on a highway,

could be to heaven, or straight to hell. 

I’m having a hard time forgiving myself.

So, I dwell.

–S.

Population: 1.5

We’re almost a ghost town.

There’s a chair on the side of the main road,

and glass shattered all over the ground.

The post office is boarded up,

and there’s nobody around.

There’s graffiti on the elementary school,

I wish you’d at least been cruel.

But we faded out like high-school football stars, neon-lit bars, and lightning bugs.

The love decayed over time like teeth do with drugs.

–S.

Mad is easier.

I’m mad that you’re right.

I’m mad that I’m wrong.

I’m mad that I’m sad.

I’m mad that you ruined my favorite song.

I’m mad that it’s all taking so long.

I’m mad that I zigged when I should’ve zagged.

I’m mad that I bobbed when I should’ve weaved.

I’m mad that I still believe.

I’m mad at her,

and at him,

and the moles all over my skin.

I’m mad at mother nature,

and father time.

I’m mad that none of it is mine.

–S.