PoetrySad Poems

This Is Not A Poem

Consumed by the power to please.
I become enslaved to the villian within.
Haunted by the feeling of loneliness, I’d do anything to be seen.
I’d share my secrets, I’d become another being.
And with this zeal, I get stabbed in the back.
Arrows through my heart, knees flat and wounded to the ground.
Until my villain whispers harsh and close, “Have you had enough?”
I reply, “I only wanted as much love as I showed.” But no one would get it, at least not under the oak tree or my pain or under the sky that the villian within is actually me

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