I write this poem as she glances at me. . .
I walked into the room, I stuttered.
What did my eyes see?
An image of pure beauty fluttering
before my eyes – as I was dreaming of what to be.
She was sitting down all relaxed and calm,
while my heartbeat crept fast.
She laughed, like she held me in her palm
with strings controlling me like a marionette.
Why can women be so cruel to a young man –
By burying our hearts with just a laugh?
And giving us a quick, flirty glance now and then?
Shooting their perfumes to us with cruel intentions?
Or does she just not know the games she’s playing?
Didn’t she make the moves that I thought she made?
© Joey Blue and thepoetryaboutus.com, 2019, except where noted. All rights reserved.