locked tight, snared, in the trap that you
set for me, unaware, I decide that I must
be free, and so I clamor, I stammer, I sputter,
but finally with most of me intact, I react
to the stifling smother of you, and I break
through, I get to see the real you, the ghoul
behind the mask of the loving fool, and I
just thank my lucky stars that I found out
who you really were, are, before you had
me, bound, no one else around to hear my
screams, my abandoned dreams, the words
I set down on paper about you, reams and
reams, so much more then than what it now
seems, but still, your will, stronger than I had
understood, and not very much for the good,
makes me glad that I left that neighborhood,
but my departure is well understood, well
taken, stirred, not shaken, and so the love
left may be forsaken, but it is love that is
not worth takin, not at all, baby, not at all.
September 7, 2009, for a number of them, but most notably, NOT for Her. Thank goodness for major exceptions to the rules.
Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.