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Click hereLoving in vain, she wanders down forked dirt roads
Lined with daisies disguising foul scents to false places;
Wonders why diamonds fail to inspire the magic of pretense –
Luxuriantly illusory comforts like kisses in pythons' embraces –
Her verdancy transposing inverted poetry of unpossessable cads.
In her former life she flitted across lily pads,
As content as other doted-on, bloated toads,
Blind to the green-gray pond scum swirling below,
Cataracts having tricked her sedated mind
Into losing track of idle time idolizing him.
Since then she has shed the last layer of thin skin,
Save webbed tenderness between maple-brown toes,
Which limits her flight to safe hops and brave leaps
Through lovely nothingness, air currents on ecstasy's throes,
Fantasies of him whispered to bent leaves on mocking trees.
Nightfall finds her laughing, dancing away invisible pain
As twinkling stars envy her incandescence in motion,
Fingertips snapping sparklers into existence amid fireflies,
Microbraids whipping up rhythms to a trip-hop essence –
Unrequited love reveling in the spirit of reptilian resistance.
I apologize for misspelling the first part of your username. :<(
To toddski28: This one's autobiographical, and although I cried while writing the verse, with each subsequent reading I smile at the idea of a fairytale gone wrong. I guess "SOLD: Lily Pad No. 251" was my way of flipping the bird to memories of my mother and other authoritative mother figures attempting to force me to seek the Black version of the "knight in shining armor." Of course, and rather conspicuously, I was inspired on an aesthetic level by Monet's impressionist series of paintings of his pond and gardens at Giverny.
To lesseeloovespeter: I wept while composing this poem because the visuals that crept into my mind during evoked the melancholy (as opposed to blunt-force sadness) that I have experienced -- and which many women, men and transgender people have experienced when loving someone was not reciprocated. I am not referring to limerence, which is one-sided, though the consequences of that are hurtful, too. My lesson, and that for all who are reading this response on Literotica, is the emotional pain often is the price of loving someone. But, oh, what pleasure to be reminded that we are alive!
Well, great, I'd finally stopped crying for the day and now I think I'm going to again.