a venerated vehicle

July 27, 2014 Posted by the writer

a venerated vehicle

between. this. (k)new
combination of reality.
someone hurt him.
this white trash baby
mamma drama. loose
pussy suburb trick.
i saw it in his face. not her.
to real women; she’s nothing.
sometimes i practice not
telling truth to what’s wounded.
my throat was slit before –
and i came back in this way
i never talk about with anyone.
but i saw him, and how he
moves. his hands create. quickly.
and he says little and i am
running again. after broken limb
past. he escaped from a lie
close to how i was once executed.
my words were abused previously.
my hips widen and thighs flex
in a tight lipped consciousness.
i bow into understanding.
back stretch agreement.
he never sees the ropes of my
locks thrashing side to side and
in circles. a keyless entry.
every time i burn down what
i could never save. i can’t help
wondering if one beat will
walk the same pace. true.

About the writer

avatar
gretchen's brain is preoccupied with words.

Comments are closed.

  • RSS Subscribe

  • Who's Online

    3 visitors online now
  • Select Archives

  • Disclaimer

    FollowMeToNYC is a creative processing ground which expresses individual ideas that often change with the tides. Naturally, these ideas do not reflect those of any of my employers, or anyone else you might see me wandering down the street with one day.
  • Popular Topics

 
Content Protected Using Blog Protector By: PcDrome.