Poetry, writing

obsolete

how did i find the 
strength to be used 
by you? wounded 
by a cycle that
 refuses to break,
i gave you a chance, 
no wait, three. three chances 
to prove that you were 
worthy of me. liar. 
you are now obsolete. 
what’s more tragic, that 
i forgave you or i 
expected you to reach 
up and bring the heavens 
to my feet? you wove 
flowers into my hair once,
and then i was stung by 
a swarm of bees. you
 promised but isn’t that the thing?
these boys, these so called 
men, they promise and promise 
me, hate to see me cry 
but then do the same thing.
so this cycle, this damn 
crucible laying by my feet,
ill throw it aside, until 
these promises, are no 
longer obsolete.

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