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Fish bones at the fish fry

Ppl really know how to bring you down,
crush your spirit,
make you frown.

Ppl take your reason for living,
pride and joy for granted;
they feed your heart to wolves.

Thus, it's why I never trust in nobles,
never hold friends and family
too close to my heart;
they'll eat your flesh for breakfast,
snack on your feelings for lunch,
devour your heart for supper.

Like bones left on plates at a fish fry,
you're left alone;
and the party moves on.

About This Poem

Last Few Words: Just a little ranting

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: United States, USA

Favorite Poets: Billy Collins, Shakespeare, , Emily Dickinson, , , Whitman, Jess Tapper

More from this author

Comments

Roscoe Lane

Roscoe Lane

9 years 8 months ago

Sad,

Sad, but in some cases very true, well written. Love Roscoe...

Barbara Writes

Barbara Writes

9 years 8 months ago

Thanks

Glad you like. Yeah some ppl make you wanna snatch out their greyheadness, thus poetry. Lol

ThEdges

ThEdges

9 years 8 months ago

I agree with you, Barbara.

I agree with you, Barbara. Sad when family treats you like that, but they sure can. You expressed it very well.

Best always,
Laura

Barbara Writes

Barbara Writes

9 years 8 months ago

Thanks

Appreciate you taking time to read it. Glad you like it. I thought a lot of metaphors might hove it more force

Rula

Rula

9 years 8 months ago

overwhelming

in many ways Barbara. You've said it really well.

Barbara Writes

Barbara Writes

9 years 8 months ago

Thanks

Definitely overwhelming especially when ppl accuse you of wrong doing when they no better. And on top of it they'd rather believe the worst even when the truth smacking them in the face.
I wanted the metaphors to bring out the pinned up pain and disappointment that can't be verbally expressed without being deemed a horrible ungrateful wicked selfish self-centered person. Lol I'm good.

Esker

Esker

9 years 8 months ago

fry bones

thought I had left a comment
call a spade a spade
they hate that
throw down the truth
under the game lights
no where to go
Run to the shadows
cowards hate the dark
or revel in it
they hate the light of
goodness
and slink in
coo in ears
lift the keys
sleep in your bed

thinking of card games
and I dont play
dont know numbers
I can count to thirteen
but people are like
cards

and calling em out
whom else they got

great poem Barbara
excellent writing!

Mr Esker ~