A moment of hunger and everything I value is lost.
I slept in your bed, unaware of consequences.
Never wanting to see you for you; I held out hope for external stimuli.
Not my type I pretended you were someone else, honest, caring, handsome.
Point is I was wrong, about you, about me, about this.
Now there is nothing left but, this chain that chokes me into reality,
Makes me do I sink of dishes, wipes the smile from my face.
A joke cracked among friends, a taste of sour milk; this is where you will stay.
The Hunger
Hi Lita~ I think the first 5 lines of this poem are too 'telling.' They are prosaic instead of poetic.
However, the last 3 lines get the poetic heart of what is being expressed and do it very well. I read somewhere that there is nothing new under the sun, but in poetry, we need to make it seem that way...a new perspective, a unique twist. The 'ending' of this poem is a great start.
as always, my humble opinion, Laurie
However, the last 3 lines get the poetic heart of what is being expressed and do it very well. I read somewhere that there is nothing new under the sun, but in poetry, we need to make it seem that way...a new perspective, a unique twist. The 'ending' of this poem is a great start.
as always, my humble opinion, Laurie
I am very against loose sex and also I do not like sour milk one little bit, not at all. What is the point of sour milk when a farmer can squeeze straight out from cows one way or an udder?
I can hardly imagine that Sir Roger would approve of either and I think you certainly owe him one of an apology straight away!
I can hardly imagine that Sir Roger would approve of either and I think you certainly owe him one of an apology straight away!
. Laurie thanks for help, I see what you mean. I am pretty new at this so I am still learning lots! and bobo medication will help............lol