eros et amor

giving time is
giving love is
being there for
just a moment to say hello is
to say I love you

making love is
making music is
giving something just because
you have something to give or
something to live for

From a Poetry Friend

In my work, I am fortunate to encounter some extraordinary young poets, whose work deserves a look. If you're here now, I hope you'll take the time to give them a gander! To wit:


Broken Filthy Doll
By M.C.

It's hard to admit I was treated like a doll
As I was immobilized and let the game play with my feelings
Worthless when done with, nobody catching me as I fall

My only blame, I knew what I got myself into since the start
Stupid standing behind the glass, labeled "brand new"
Who wouldn't take me, who wouldn't later tear me apart?

I should have known better, dolls don't feel
Dolls are made of hard procelain, but I'm not!
I'm too weak for you; these wounds just won't heal

If I could have chosen a better master
But dolls can't as they don't speak; they're chosen
I'm now broken, nobody seems to care, I'm a disaster

Truth is, I wasn't even treated like one
Dolls have values, take a look at their price tags
I, unworthy, taken for granted, had none

I'm shattered into pieces, broken by filthy hands
So difficult to repair, only time will tell
But now, I'm just a broken filthy doll nobody understands.


A note from the author:
Many women whose emotions have been taken advantage of inspired me to write this poem. Some men don't care about their partners, aside from sex appeal. In this poem, the speaker, who thought she was in love, lost her virginity and was left the night after...She blames herself for not realizing beforehand that any man would want her merely because she was not used by someone else...

A note from the blogger:
I dig the dawning insight that the narrator had thought of herself as a doll before any of this happened, and the implication this holds about the surroundings that educated her self-concept...

(untitled)

look at the trees
they love indiscriminately
the sun warms our backs
as gladly as it warms our faces
and burns as brightly
through the dark of night
as it does in the day