Poem by: Kathleen Megquier



A story about my indecisive behavior.


Submitted: March 19, 2012

A A A | A A A


Submitted: March 19, 2012



The leaves scream that I am about to be in danger.

They cry out while the crackling begins.

Because I know for certain my heart has set them to flames.

I just wish I could deem what was good from what was bad.

I like how perfectly perfect I can engross myself within his skin.

He’s not the one that is what I should say.

I guess, I can’t really argue.

He’s so persuasive, yet, I’ve held out this long haven’t I?

The ashes sweep around my soul and suffocate the remaining breath.

I cry out because I know I shall never be that happy again, with anyone, or anything.

I yearn for the contentment I once had with you. You were my little fool. Marionettes are what I make out of you.

Smooth little hands, glassy balled eyes.

You are my prize.

I just wish I could make you dance like you use to.

You won’t sing ether.

You refuse to whisper out my name after I’ve kissed you.

I take grief in what I’ve lost, but I know there’s more than just you.

I’ve been through this a time or two. I lost my father when all I had left was a mother that wasn’t into philosophy.

I want to be that monstrosity that crumbles up your heart.

But you’ve locked it away. Like a hunter searches for it’s prey.

You’ve caught me looking your way.


I should of seen this awful thing coming.

Now my heart sinks.

Sinks into the oceans of lies and pretty little things.

I know I can’t have you now, nor can I have you ever.

I bemused us but not for the better. God I want your touch.

A single hair, just slightly brushed.

Damn these girlish wants.

I know I’m better but who says I can’t want?

Words are swarming and I feel myself stumble for the feeling I want to present.

Hard but not too difficult to get. Yet, I fail. You know I want that purse lip, you know I graze that lash of blonde.

Damn my heart and it’s stupidity. I know we’re both bruised.

I know I’m hard to keep in tune.

Let’s just hope we can once again sing in harmony.

Because without it, I fear I will deal with great agony.

My hair ruffled from your touch, your lips chapped from my engulf.

Someone destroy this imagery.

It’ll vivid our heads and implode in our minds.

God, why can’t I just see your shining eyes once again?

I’ve hurt you but not in the way I planned.

I wanted you to suffer much less, and remain far fruitful than this.

Says the man who no longer wants to hold me.

I’ll bite at your indifferences.

Yell at your monotone acceptance that what was once us is missing.

This stuff is only held captive in tragic like story book endings.

Give me a reading, I want to know what’s pent up in my subconscious.

Do I love him, do I love him, do I love him?

Too many misters, only one person to decide for me.

The public will find out, they’ll devise me.

My little games of mystery will soon be solved.

I’ll be the creation of Frankenstein’s revelation.

He must not be mastered.

Take me because I can no longer plaster this crumpled wall paper on the confinement of our boredom.

It won’t hold.

Take me home, I want to be wrapped  up in your warmth.

Never to shudder again.

Make those dreams of demise come to an end.

Why is this such a sin. It feels wrong, but I know that more sinister things have occurred before and after noon.

Take me to the moon?

You offer?

Why yes, I’ll sail in your star ship and make love to the gravity that no longer binds us.

Take it from someone who knows, what you want isn’t always what you hold.

Some wise men are told that, but most women find that.


Take the strips of ecstatic down, I am now gloom.

Hungary for your memory but every lasted in your empty room.

The thoughts of the thinking take with me the flight of meaning.

I want to wish for more than what I’ve consumed, resort to more than just that broom and penny saver catalog.

A nice sturdy pair of clogs.

No way.

I am the beauty that will soon wisp you away, for a third, fourth, fifth time going.

© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.

Willma Willma

Status: Finished

Genre: Poetry



Status: Finished

Genre: Poetry




A story about my indecisive behavior.
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