Your Serve

Folder: 
divorce

Your serve!

Your turn

I guess you win

I have no more gas to burn

No more hot air to fill up the night

I see my sunrise coming

So I embrace its light.

Contact sport

Of no good report

Verbal blows

Scars that don’t show

Only visible to those who know

I could not dodge those fast balls

They hit so hard they made me fall.

You consoled me long enough

To answer your call.

Only to strike me once again

What kind of sick game

is this my friend?



You are an addict!

An emotional adrenaline junkie

I which you would kick it

The power you feel

the high you zeal

As you stir me up

and kick up your heels

In my face, to my heart

My emotions your tore apart

You are an addict!

Hooked on the rush

You feel when you conquer and push

my coaster and send it rolling,

crashing in a heap of mush

I was once in love

with you oh so much

but as I said

your turn , your serve

this game is dead

I have had enough!

I have no more energy

to blow over This marriage

covering the tracks

evading attacks

find some one else to play with

find some one else toy with

find someone else!

Maybe they can play

a better game than I can.

Because

I don’t play games.




















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raila's picture

WoW! A put-your-foot-down poem. Its a good thing you a a Godly woman because I can see a whole lot of other adjectives being used in this piece. Good write!


RaiLa