Agatha Portugal

27,000 Daggers - Poem by Agatha Portugal

“Can you spare 22 minutes? ”
He wanted me –
here. To be with him.
Beside him.
Only with him.
He stopped me
from almost leaving
him. The red chair carried me.

(Could this mean something? Ahh! A thousand sweet sighs!)

In his world
he welcomed me;
the other side –
where we
can defeat demons
though we can’t –
I can’t win it all.

In my mind I
blush. He’s limited! But I
think still:

(Does he really want me? He just wanted my time.)

I assumed. I continue to.
Every day I fill my heart
with hope
that somehow he
could possibly…
It’s a knife continuously stabbing

me. He can never want me.
Like me.
Need me.

Love me. (Please?)

It’s a flaming whip
to my heart
but I,
in pain,
I am wicked!

And so is he.

And that is why we are
Just. Friends.

Commitment… rejection
He’s afraid,
I am a coward.

We’re stuck.

“Can you spare 3 minutes more? ”

I’m frozen!


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, September 5, 2013

Poem Edited: Thursday, September 5, 2013

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