A poem how sweet Trunchbull voice

Hole

8/24/2025

Where's the thought?

What's the motive?

Why did I think? Why didn't I think?

Who are you to make me feel this way?

My value to yours? Compete.

Yet we're the same when we lay down

Am I alone? Where's your head?

Your hands? Between my legs and my mind wrapped around the man I wish you were

I'm not her? My eyes aren't blue

Your eyes aren't green and your smile is too straight

What a mistake

What a blistering mistake

Wasted months and still you'll never be

I'll never be

We'll never be

I miss your hands especially the palms

I don't care if you ate though

I don't care if you smile

I don't care if you laugh

But I care if you cum and she wasn't me

8/12/2025

Like I'm at the base of a willow tree seeing & hearing the rippling in the lake to my front

Basket at my side & a landscape you'd only get a proper description of in the eldest & most romanticized binds of literary smell

Afloat with hopes & dreams that are a possibility

Drawn with confusion, conflicted with a notion of an ending that doesn't exist Am I a poet? Am I a fraud?

Unknown fates & thoughts are drowning me

Is this Walden? No it's the swamp I am neither author nor expert

My life is off track and those around me can't see me

I am but the water in the roots of a tree

Unseen but vital, a commodity if I was not...if I couldn't

Priority in a basket of things ignored

A tragic ending to a damned beginning

Cursed with the demons of actions & distractions alike

You can't depict, you can't decipher

A portal unknown, a portal with a close without open

Maybe that holds vacant memories

A formulation, a great distraction

It was custom made in my palm but now it's losing traction

Alas, opening! The door is jammed... .