She was beautiful. I lied to her like I lied to my mother and it killed her. Why do we strangle the ones who try to love us? Why do we make them spin and call them crazy?
He was beautiful. I did not want to fuck him and not answer his texts the next day. Such an old soul and a big heart once broken but strong like soft marble.
She was beautiful and she tried love me. God, how she tried. Her heart, desensitized by betrayal. Her cries loud and quick, as if she couldn’t live without me. The next day, she parades another lover as if she never begged to be mine.
He was beautiful. My mind ran like hyenas after prey but found its bones and blood at a dead end, in the mouth of a nightingale. Then the world became a desert and I could not beg him to stay.
The ones we love are beautiful. They have the power to make us live or die when we are overthinking whether to let go and disappear or choose an eye for an eye.
Kristina Taylor is a poet, mother and significant other who is passionate about writing erotic poetry, loves books and all things soul.
You can buy her book here.
Posted in: poetry