Dirty Little Secret
(Photo: Post Secrets)
Deep down I knew it would happen.
Now you’re just my dirty little secret.
I didn’t know it was a theatrical production,
Pulling the wool over the eyes of a little freshman,
You weren’t my Prince Charming.
Defenses going up,
This wasn’t part of my detailed plan.
Now you’re just my dirty little secret.
You were fooling around,
In a complex game of one-on-one chess, determined to win,
You weren’t my Prince Charming.
I tried fighting – beating, cheating, anything,
But things would never be as they could’ve been.
Now you’re just my dirty little secret.
Now the pawns are played out and I’m going
To unearth something for me, because unlike my plan,
You weren’t my Prince Charming,
Now you’re just my dirty little secret.
The Books I Choose to Comfort
(Photo by: unknown)
Electric pages,
speak to me in slang, perfect English, and dance along the cases in a merry jig.
The pages have a musty aroma,
flapping noisily as they move –
A blur of white and yellow pages, black type.
I could taste the knowledge flowing through them,
I could hear the aromas of
Egypt, Greece and France.
Yet, books about those places have never been picked up,
Not by my hands. I was more concerned with productive procrastination.
Because if you read everything, but what you need to study.
“Ya’ know, procrastination, it be an art.”
The balding man of Kingman’s Court, looking like a unripe apple – once said that
In King Arthur’s Court of Stupid Stories, You Would Never Believe.
Comical lines make me weep with sorrow.
The Beast remembers those days.
She regrets not making moments like that last.
Her eyes droop with salty tears.
If she had made all those days last,
she would already be dead.
“Carpe Diem!
Seize the day!”
The pages howl, their fists shaking in determination.
I close the pages,
And dust powders the air, the musty perfume greets my senses as I reach for another book to ease.
