Tug of War begins with battle cries
The mud on my face is simply a trophy of the things I've survived.
Your naivete is unmatchable and I am sure
That my strength outwits you in every arena.
Something brushes my face,
A ribbon, but it's not white.
I hoped for your surrender, but what was I expecting?
Sarcasm you'll get, a gift, a reminder
Of how little I care and how much I remember.
~
About the Creator
Ruby Red
Heya friend, I'm Red!
I write poetry, so subscribe for a hint of vulnerability, some honesty and the occasional glimpse behind my mask 🌱
Taking a break from Vocal; focusing on my anthology 🫶💖
AI is not art.
The Light Turns
It's Tuesday 7:13 a.m. A cold and clear November morning awaits Ray on his morning commute. Ray rubs his hands together in the front seat of his Subaru. He turns the air temperature up, but keeps the air on low until the air warms up. He looks at the backup camera screen and reverses the Subaru out of his driveway onto Trimble Road.
By John R. Godwin2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (4)
oh wow, nice one, Ruby~ short yet profound 🥰
Wow nailed this one, very powerful. Nice work. I really enjoyed this story. Keep up the good work.
very powerfully written
Not the surrender you hoped for - I liked the ending - how little I care, and how much I remember.