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Sunday, October 6, 2013

A Cruel Game


Stinging blows

To this wounded pride,

Sharp, vicious jabs

That do the trick.

 

Knock me down a peg,

Bring me down a notch,

‘Til my knees are shaky,

And my eyelids burn.

 

Such a cruel game you play,

Laughing with the parry thrust,

The turning of the blade.

 

But now that I’m onto

Your twisted sport,

I’ll pick myself up,

Brush myself off.

 

No longer the victim,

I’m letting you go.
 
 
Posted at Poetry Pantry

7 comments:

  1. This is the best thing to do, will hurt them the most.

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  2. nice...i like the strength in the end...the finding your own self worth and realizing you can live life outside of their box...

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  3. I like how you ended the poem....

    No longer the victim,

    I’m letting you go.

    it takes strength to to that...

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  4. Love the attitude ~ Best way is to pick yourself up and find your way again, even if it means letting go ~ Cheers~

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  5. Sounds like it wise to let this kind of person go. Sounds more toxic than loving. Good to hear about picking yourself up. Hurrah!! Move beyond.

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  6. Bravo! I applaud the narrator! Life is too short! (Trust me, I know these things:))

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  7. Oh this all sounds very familiar. Sherry is right. Life is too short.

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