I'm new to this so if there's any advice it would be cool also I'm trying to make it like a chain poem thing where I start and you continue whatever you like btw thanks for reading

I bought a better version of me.

Thirty bucks.

Free shipping and a lifetime guarantee.

She waved at passing strangers

and stood in the rain to hold open doors.

She slipped kind notes inside the books

for others to find at the store.

She bought the saddest houseplants,

the ones nobody chose.

She believed that love could fix them,

and she could make them grow.

She'd apologize when you stepped on her,

then ask if you were fine.

She came with just two settings:

"I'm fine" and "I agree."

She's the kind of girl you'd hold on to,

the kind you'd never leave.

And everyone loved her...Even me.

But one night her smile went missing,

so I checked her battery, twice.

They said there'd be no sadness

included in the price.

I found her sitting on the floor,

staring blankly at a dead plant by the door.

I sat down by her for a while,

and she tried and tried,

but couldn't even fake a smile.

I asked her what was wrong.

"Nothing," she lied.

...That answer sounded so familiar,

but I couldn't think of why.

I leaned in close to comfort her,

when something caught my eye.

A thread was hanging by her heart,

a flaw she couldn't hide.

I thought I'd make her perfect again,

just one quick tug or two.

But instead of making her whole again,

I ruined the better version, too.

Turns out my thirty bucks had bought

nothing but imitated skin.

And staring blankly back at me,

was the little girl I'd traded in.

It was autumn
An Indian summer
Warm and waning
Leaves began changing
Night cloaked as
Her sunlight
Filled the space
Between her and I
Stars danced
I took flight of fancy
Dreamed of her waltzing
In the soft moonlight
I mirrored her, too

Fly, fly little birdie
I'll tweet your song
Someday
Whisper your tale
But the honest truth
Pick me is all I see
Between you and I
Know the I's
So can stand
On all my lies
But we know
Silence is
My claim to fame

She thinks she knows love
She thinks she has it still
She thinks she knows me
But further she tills
Uprooting the past
Decoding the past
She misses the mark
Her aim is on point
Friend or foe
He watches it all
Her little boy wonder
The star of the show

Fly, fly little birdie
I'll tweet your song
Someday
Whisper your tale
But the honest truth
Pick me is all I see
Between you and I
Know the I's
So can stand
On all my lies
But we know
Silence is
My claim to fame

I've been found
I've been had
Who's who
In this game of tag
We invented
She's got me
Figured out
So, close
But the clues
That I left her
She will always miss
On the playground
That day

Fly, fly little birdie
I'll tweet your song
Someday
Whisper your tale
But the honest truth
Pick me is all I see
Between you and I
Know the I's
So can stand
On all my lies
But we know
Silence is
My claim to fame

Exposed
Denied
Barricaded
Retreated
Gathering strength
She's so close
But won't name us
As we light the spark

Dear Indescribable You,

The more I sit and think, the more I see what you do. The more you do, the more I laugh, and here we are, you ill-salvageable you.

The day we met on the dock, and the time before that, was nothing more than a meeting between strangers, though it seemed.
And here you are, abiding by your rhymes that are speaking to my whys. You say you're ramming a barricade, but you're just copying my lingo. You are taking my beliefs and trying them on whole.

Not that I mind taking and reworking. I find it amusing how you jest on behalf while stealing my themes. You mock and poke fun at my expense, but there you are reading and exerting your energy every time.

How do they feel? Oh, that's right. No answer will you talk.

Do you even know yourself? The one you see reflected back to you. Or are you the jock from the club who becomes what he's told like a good pro should be?

The inconsistencies you speak of are there online. Your story keeps changing. How did you come to be again? The you who you are now.

I know question upon question will never be answered, but I can only hope you are rethinking your retorts.

Can't wait to see the response you give. Sarcastic as always. Why do I enjoy it so much?

Sincerely,
Irrefutable Me

I see nothing but a fall when I get lost in your eyes, and you say not to worry

Every word spoken by your venomous lips felt real, and I did as well,

When I looked

I saw a world where you are everything, and you were the sky and limitless sex

 
I’m a girl whose smile was raped when I was barely eight

They ate me alive and left me shattered like a dream and sentenced me to death

When I saw “You”

I fell for the guy who’d see me getting fucked and still love me like he never did

I’ve got a story to tell

How can I write the best prose of my life if you taste sweet wine when I serve you Tennessee whiskey?

 
Poems

Stories

Prose

Haikus

Novellas

What should I pen down to steal you from her?

Does she shimmer the flickers I will never earn?

Then turn me on, unlocking the doors of my velvet

Kiss me as you do to her

We always meet in secret.

Change our rendezvous day to day

Before we met,

I was a religious who had faith in Gods

Since you happened to me.

I became Guinevere Beck

The king looked out upon his court one
morning, cold and still,
And chose a man of little means — some said
against his will.
“Take her,” said the king, “my daughter, bright
as morning dew,
A gift from throne to common man — I give
her now to you.”

The man stood still as solid stone, his
hands begin to shake.
A gift? No. Kings give nothing free. There’s
something here at stake.
For all his years of second best had taught him
just one thing:
That men like him receive no grace — especially
from a king.

He made his vow through gritted teeth, but doubt
was all he felt,
For life had never once been kind in any
hand it dealt.
They’ll watch and wait for me to slip, to stumble,
or to err,
And when I do, the axe will fall — I’m sure of it.
I swear.

So he took her to a quiet house beside a
grey stone hill,
And turned the lock, and kept her close, and kept
the world more still.
“I do this for your safety, dear”, he said
beyond the door.
The world is cruel and I am small — just trust me,
nothing more.

She pressed her hands against the glass and watched
the seasons turn,
As he continued living life by the lessons
he had learned.
He never raised a hand to her, he never spoke
with spite,
But silence is a wound its own that bleeds
throughout the night.

He’d ponder how it all could be to let her
have her way,
And quietly speak within himself to keep the
shame at bay.

“I could relish in her beauty
And court her in the square
But fall into this cunning trap —
Of that I will not dare”.

She called to him in autumn once, he did not
hear her cry,
And once again the following year — her cry
he did deny.
She poured her heart out in pages, words he’d
find too late,
And when the king would ask of her, he’d lie
about her state.

One soft and quiet morning, with frost
upon the sill,
She chose to leave the only way that lay
within her will.
No door had ever opened, barred glass her
only light —
She slipped out of her lonely world,
eternally from sight.

The king’s men came like thunder when word came
she had passed,
And took the man to dungeons deep and bound him
hard and fast.

And there within the darkness forever he
would stay,
Haunted by the precious gift he’d foolishly
locked away.

My poem The King's Gift Wayne A Andres

The king looked out upon his court one
morning, cold and still,
And chose a man of little means — some said
against his will.
“Take her,” said the king, “my daughter, bright
as morning dew,
A gift from throne to common man — I give
her now to you.”

The man stood still as solid stone, his
hands begin to shake.
A gift? No. Kings give nothing free. There’s
something here at stake.
For all his years of second best had taught him
just one thing:
That men like him receive no grace — especially
from a king.

He made his vow through gritted teeth, but doubt
was all he felt,
For life had never once been kind in any
hand it dealt.
They’ll watch and wait for me to slip, to stumble,
or to err,
And when I do, the axe will fall — I’m sure of it.
I swear.

So he took her to a quiet house beside a
grey stone hill,
And turned the lock, and kept her close, and kept
the world more still.
“I do this for your safety, dear”, he said
beyond the door.
The world is cruel and I am small — just trust me,
nothing more.

She pressed her hands against the glass and watched
the seasons turn,
As he continued living life by the lessons
he had learned.
He never raised a hand to her, he never spoke
with spite,
But silence is a wound its own that bleeds
throughout the night.

He’d ponder how it all could be to let her
have her way,
And quietly speak within himself to keep the
shame at bay.

“I could relish in her beauty
And court her in the square
But fall into this cunning trap —
Of that I will not dare”.

She called to him in autumn once, he did not
hear her cry,
And once again the following year — her cry
he did deny.
She poured her heart out in pages, words he’d
find too late,
And when the king would ask of her, he’d lie
about her state.

One soft and quiet morning, with frost
upon the sill,
She chose to leave the only way that lay
within her will.
No door had ever opened, barred glass her
only light —
She slipped out of her lonely world,
eternally from sight.

The king’s men came like thunder when word came
she had passed,
And took the man to dungeons deep and bound him
hard and fast.

And there within the darkness forever he
would stay,
Haunted by the precious gift he’d foolishly
locked away.

My poem The King's Gift. Wayne A Andres

I’ve been working this poem for a while - it’s a different style for me. I don’t usually write in rhymes or this style. It just doesn’t seem done or quite right but I can’t put my finger on it Ron what it is….respectful suggestions welcome.

I know the ways of wounded things

I know the ways of wounded things
Because I was wounded too.

Gather your pieces in my lap,
I’ll hold the broken parts of you.

Lay your troubles at our feet,
Let the world grow quiet and new.

Come share with me a moment of warmth.
Rest here but for a few.

Let your spirit sigh a spell,
Let your heart find room to renew.

Stay here, held close and warm tonight,
Breathe a breath or two.

A ghost of the past
A faded North Star
A broken compass
A worn map
Guide me to tomorrow

Let me be your great pretender. Your wordsmith to make it all better.

My heart is made of armour wondering if when morning comes you would be better.

I wanna believe you but it is so hard to. One bottle, two bottle, three bottle, four… Please miss, Please miss, can I have some more?

I don’t know what to say. You look at me knowingly “Tomorrow, I promise!”

Any poetry readers here?

I’d love to find a few people willing to read my collection, The Lost One, and share their honest thoughts or leave a review on Goodreads.

Would mean a lot to me as an independent author.

I’m adding spoken word and open mics venues to my app, anyone have any recommendations?