Tortured Poets - inspired, Taylor Swift

Declassified.

If everything was declassified in your own life, and they could only tell you the truth, what would you want to know?

In fifty years

as you untangle trauma soup?

..

Did you ever love me?

What did I mean to you?

Actually, that’s never going to be a

good question

I know all the answers to

my big questions

I’m looking to blame you for my striking

Negating me, with your proof

..

I want answers to all the

ponderings that will beat me up

Whipping up the rubble

I wallowed, sunk into solitary soup

..

Strike me with melancholy

and misery

How could I ?

Or, why didn’t I, trust?

Chunks of  too cold

Too hot, too hungry

Fingertips frying

with the embers of us

..

Should I report him?

Can I have a concrete memory A-B-C?

Tender flames, learning to be

smothered

The smoky, taste of vile

He lives in my consciousness

The bonfire to my intimacy

.

Within shifty eyes

Always dry

I made believe,

that those lungs only grew on me

Dry, to opposite of my, same,

eyes -

Glazed, when I water,

in the sizzle of

never free

..

You poke with a baking

iron rod

Acceptance, which dashes

in cycles once again

The flowers of the bronchioles

When you turn coal powders

and cooling vapours,

soft now,

into friends

..

You shift into my consciousness

The he’s and disbeliefs that found

home in my bones

The she’s ..

Could they not love me

either?

Their facts slice my limbs up

For my (and their) cartilage,

and for my fire damage

I need to atone

shame, sorry, self-blame, tara poetry

Cover picture: Canva

www.taratalks.net/blog

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