Daily situations resulted in this blog.

His Trophy

I was perfect,
My eyes, he loved
My body, he thought of
Always commented on how I dressed
With my frame, he was impressed
Constant phone calls to say he loved me
At night, he held me til I fell asleep
When we went out
He was proud
If a man looked at me, he’d hold me close
Smiling because he was who I chose
He loved how I looked in heels
With his arm around my waist, my curves he could feel
This man put me on a pedestal
Even when I was unlovable
He wanted a chance I gave someone else
In love with me, is how he felt
I wasn’t the best I could be
But still….I was his trophy…


12/07/2011 - Posted by | Poetry, Sharing My Thoughts | , , , , , , , , , , ,


  1. a Trophy is a prize you win
    never to be stolen…
    Something one cherish
    as he put his all in to get it…
    His lost my gain!
    My baby on the way!
    He had his chance to get you back…
    That night,
    on his bed.
    no draws on,
    giving taking head.
    No matter what it is a Trophy is a prized possession one does not lose.
    Like my children!
    I will never give them up without a fight.
    Those are my tophies,
    my prized possessions!
    You was my dream.
    My ideal forever more!
    But like before, I’m sure you’ll be running back through his door!

    But I still won!
    You will forever be a part of my heart
    in the name of JaMar…

    Comment by Da Poets Corner dot com | 12/08/2011 | Reply

    • Through his door?
      Like before….
      Love me or hate me
      I asked you passionately
      I wanted you
      You’re too blind to see the truth
      Now you’re mad
      You haven’t lost what you had
      Memories, sit in silence
      When I want to feel your presence
      Be it in person, or the phone
      Nope instead ….ringtone!!!
      you blame me when I ask
      Like its impossible, or ridiculous task
      Change how you treat me
      I don’t want us to be History!

      Comment by Christina | 12/08/2011 | Reply

      • Historical sentiments I learned in class
        your words cut deep like I slit my wrist with glass
        you fail to realize what you have said
        especially sense you was over him…
        though still he drops love notes to your inbox…
        but I’m ok
        I know the task at hand

        Comment by Da Poets Corner dot com | 12/08/2011

      • Yes my words are cut throat
        At the same time all I need is your words to cope
        I’ve accepted the distance between us
        The same issue we discuss
        Tired of not feeling your heart
        I write poetry about how we could be torn apart
        You don’t hear me though
        Instead you act like I’ve let go
        I don’t ask for much of you
        Just to love me and SHOW me you do!

        Comment by Christina | 12/08/2011

  2. aweome!!! I know the feeling 😀

    Comment by BlueGem | 12/08/2011 | Reply

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