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Ten
You were chiseling a masterpiece out of hopeless clay
Ended up sinking the scalpel into your fingers
Blood dripping
You scraped your skin to write my name
But how could I gulp a gallon down my throat when I had never had a drop
So I tried but choked, threw up and fled
Packing my half baked heart in a claustrophobic closet
Was it the time, efforts, feelings or just bad omen?
Or was it me who gathered an arduous nine for what deserved a Ten?
You were like the headrush from standing up too fast
I regret the haste
The neck cramp from sleeping wrongly
Regret the fleeting comfort
The drench in rain from believing the deceptive sun
Regret the faith
And maybe the carpet of lilies but on the fork I took the prickly curve
For you were the poem my mammoth of metaphors don’t deserve
We hated the sin for it was the sin
You kissed the sin for I was the sinner
Everytime I explore a passion, a person, a poem
I ask myself if this is what I’m seeking to give my Ten to
But end up saving it for my fictitious ‘Right’
Always forgetting Bible’s greatest commandment
You can’t give what you don’t have
Growing up every night I would fixate myself to the bedpost
Curl myself up in an armour
And whisper prayers under my breath
That the shouts be a monster and not my father
And the shrieks a demon but not my mother
So learned to mark myself a Ten
When I outperformed the highest scale of hostility and hatred
But my jerked heart couldn’t open it’s doors
And my slow brain couldn’t process your Ten
For my aversion couldn’t stand your love
I was debris in the unabated tornado
Naked, unprotected, Blase and haywire
You wanted to gather and settle
And I never opened my dark trunk of mess because what if you took the scrapes and fled?
Years later
I bury my swallowed screams
My peeping tears from the eyesdoors swollen of excess moisture
My sensitive nerves better left untouched
My fatigued desire for a ten
Writing elegies while you still write ballads
But you pull at a string
And all the beads come untied crashing against the floor
It’s noise, chaos, mayhem all over the place
A smokey familiar room in the eye of a cyclone
Bang of fist, a crash of dish, loud swearing
Blood and gore
The flashes and echoes spook
But I am delved too deep in the well of tranquility to be haunted now
Pokered up, resting by a gravestone of ashen memories
Plodding, I try to stand
I have to hold up and search the ten I’ve been seeking to give
Inside of me
But not today
Today, I have to atone for my sins
This could’ve been a numbered poem
But I cannot count my vices on fingers
For it’s now in the hands of god’s lawmen
I’ve laid my decrepit case open
Rate my vices on a scale of one to ten
I’ll cherish my first victory and go back to my selfish glen
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