Poem #11 (I think)

Beautiful shouldn’t talk to abused
brutal ugly like that
Not until beautiful ballerina belle
knows what exactly she’s getting into
Can’t accept the silky slippery façade
without accepting the broken
skeletons in my crowded closet
Off-set by the monsters under
my bed. Or scorpions
under my table talk twisted tongue
When I speak about certain things, sometimes,
it hurts

I have enough demons
gazing at me through mirrors
to make the sun afraid to shine
Abandonment issues reside in psyche
I will spend the backbone
of eternity trying to prove myself
to a ghost. If beautiful gets to close
Ugly gets distant

Resistance inches closer

Mistakes
instantly thrown in my face
Love dies and resentment
moves in it’s place
We work minds
into oblivion. Oblivious
to the inconsiderate sentiment
that settles in infectious sentences
This seems to be the pattern

We leave heart fragments
scattered under the rivers we cry
Two verbally violent poets stand
patronizing one another through covers
Blasting word-sized bullets at each other
aimed for lovers gone
We grow to wonder where the magic
has gone. Our future is gone
Your selfish, self-centered, stubborn rant goes on
Speak strong about being your mother’s
spawn with no moving memories to show
Neither of us feel close. We’re as distant
as the hole I punched in the closet door
to the rational that made me do it;
Fluent bangs. fluent bangs.
Knuckles scrape against the wood grain
We don’t bother to explain. We just
become combative comments
as accurate as gunpowder leaving scars
on the dumbfounded
Seems to me seems be
what we do best. Stretch
Raw emotion across the confrontation
of honesty filling up these brick walls
Exposing our souls folded in the corners
we keep our secrets in. In this room we cry in
We take on more responses than responsibility
End up wishing we never spoke

So you should know
Beautiful shouldn’t talk to Abused
Brutal Ugly like that. Now we sit
wishing we could turn back
the hands of time. Or the heavy
weight of depression on two mismatched minds
Middle of the night. first time Beautiful
went to bed angry, silent, eye lids
forcing back tears. Abused, I spent the full moon
convincing myself to leave. Morning wakes up,
Sun comes, as always Abused
Brutal Ugly has a backpack full of regrets