Prena Poetry

woke up at 5am in the winter morning and made your favourite cup of coffee. you took me in your arms, smelled my lavender scented hair and sipped your coffee as you laid on the warm mattress and told me that you loved me.



painted only once a day just so i could make the house, put on your favourite shade of lipstick and patiently wait for you at the door. oh, how beautiful, how beautiful, it felt to welcome you home and finally hear your voice calling me pretty from the other end of the dining table. how everlasting, it felt, to turn my back on my aspirations and watch you climb up the golden ladder with my hand in yours. i could spend my whole life, living for your love and cleaning you up. i could spend my whole life, hugging you in my sleep and drinking coffee from the same ceramic cup. and oh, how ready i felt, to give up on my life long  dreams and run away with you. how ready i felt, to throw away my lovely canvasses and fair poetries, with a hope to start a new life with you, and move away from this quaint town to a city state. where we would greet the sunrise from our balcony full of flower pots. and i would let you wash my hair and braid it with your mannish clumsy fingers, while i would turn on the radio’s song and read you the news. everything felt so certain and eternal.



but the day you started to feel ashamed of me. it felt like a thunder stike wrecking my little cottage house that i had built with all my sweat. the day you kicked away my canvas with a nearly completed painting of two grand lovers. and asked me to speak a little softer, to act more prettier, to stand more obediently and resent my paintings or just toss it somewhere for the charity. the day you aksed me to change, and gifted flowers for each bruises you left behind. i realised, i was actually never ready to give up on my dreams. but i have been long ready, to give up on you.