Finally, after so many years of dreaming… You know, the kind where you lay in bed just imagining, making up worlds and places, I can now say that I do have a poetry book.

The poems tell a story in 20 of them, separated into ACT I and ACT II. So, to get the whole story, you may want to read the other post first.

In this act, I have focused on heartbreak and acceptance.

I use the help of AI for punctuation (I do change some things) and the help of Grammarly to do my own edits, while they don’t replace editors I do have to make do with free-to-use tools currently.

Poetry Book no. I ACT II

He Made Her a Feral cat

Oh,

He makes me go feral.

Look at me,

A kitten,

A lioness,

A fly,

A wolf,

A sheep,

A lady choking on butterflies.

While He Was the Dead Sea

And there was I,

Trembling.

My Love

Was a fierce tempest ravaging my heart.

Shaken,

My world was set ablaze by his gaze.

And he was,

A dead,

Calm,

Sea.

Her Foolish Heart

My foolish heart,

Like my mother’s favourite vase,

Plummeting from the shelf I could not reach,

And beneath my feet,

A thousand tiny shards.

With tears flowing from my eyes,

My love…

A runoff I was drowning in.

My mother’s arms

Around my shaking,

Frail

Husk,

“All is going to be alright, my child.”

Eating Her Alive

Oh God!

Oh, mother!

I pray to thee.

PLEASE,

Help me.

Desperation Flowing From Her Eyes

What is the worth of my love,

If I can not paint

The city walls

With the colour

Of his eyes?

She Cried For Love to Pass

Oh, dear lord…

At this state,

A knife,

Straight into this heart of mine,

Would be an act of mercy.

But It Wouldn’t Go Out

And so I have been doomed

To walk this earth,

Without my love by my side.

Cursed to live

And write letters Unheard.

So She Dug Her Grave

Yes…

Writing poetry about him

Was a luxury…

I couldn’t afford.

Accepting Her Destiny

But mother,

Can you not see?

He makes my heart sing,

My fingers dancing on the keys

Of an old,

Dusty,

Pianoforte,

Out of tune.

And I keep hitting the wrong notes,

But my heart hums,

And perhaps…

I am,

A Jester of love,

But love…

I do.

Bonus Poem

“I will just die doing nothing”

You have inspired the art of other people,

And that is tenfold more

Than having died

“Doing nothing”