I wrote this when I was mad at a ex-boyfriend. This is actually a poem about how words can do the dirty work that you hands will never dare carve!
Bits of flesh & blood…
Stain your blood thirsting hands…
As tears of pain fall…
In a raging oblivious arrogance…
You blame me.
Your trepidation is…
My own transgression…
But yet I still…
Strive to receive…
In my own volition…
To delve your assent…
Which is my own grief.
2011 unpublished work. © by Rebbecca Abernathy
Through my own grief…
My venture is but…
To transcend your aversion…
That my searing irrelevant forlorn spirit…
Seems to receive all but…
Your satisfactory esteem…
That seems so unfeasible…
And unattainable.
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