Taste

1 Comments

Tags:
  • Jealousy

    Taste

    Pushing her aside.
    I feed like a hungry calf.
    Thirsty for its mothers milk.

    Her hair falls down upon her perfect face.
    I stare, eyes furrowed, brow but a mass of wrinkled hate.
    I push her down trying to climb into her skin.

    Wanting to feel the beauty of being.

    I get inside her and stare out.
    Pondering over what she sees
    She is looking at someone.

    A pretty girl.
    Wanting to be her.
    The girl seems strangely familiar.

    Looking out of her eyes I can see.
    My demon.
    My lover.
    She was jealous of me.

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    Tempy commented on Taste

    08-10-2009

    you got the shape of tweety pie !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!@!

    Tempy

    08/22/2009

    shamed was sposed to read shaped so sorry

    Tempy

    08/22/2009

    the way the poem is shamed like the words if you traced around it you would have something that looks like tweety pie from warner brothers cartoons the yellow bird.. you can't see it?

    RavenMoon

    08/10/2009

    what?

    Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    RavenMoon’s Poems (12)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Unconditional 0
    All The Wrong Places 2
    Lovers 4
    Taste 1
    Calling 0
    Terror 1
    Nightmare of sorts 0
    Love *אהבה* me in Hebrew 0
    Differences 0
    Mother's sweater 0
    just a minute in a lifetime 0
    Just like Riding a Bike 1