Please critique! I was bored so I decided to write a poem off the top of my head. It isn't personal experience or anything, so it's probably not too deep. Anyhow, here we go:
I watch from my corner
of the little room.
The party is raging around me,
And I hear the bantering of the few couples
reminding me, forever, of him.
Once more I let my eyes drift to where,
on the other side of the sweating, dancing, kissing mass
of tangled, lusting bodies,
there sits an angel.
My angel.
He has that girl on his knee,
perched like a bird, skirt pushed up to her thighs,
and his hand caresses her leg.
I can see the words on his lips:
"I love you."
I smile gloomily at the memory.
That was me, not so long ago.
Only, I was happier with him.
I was smiling when I sat on his knee.
But she wears a frown.
She wants more, I can tell.
But my beau, that handsome,
abstinent tower of strength and happiness,
says no.
Because he's strong and she's a slut.
Once again, I am jealous.
I know he pushed me away,
kicked me like I was a dog:
but I still love him.
And now I lust for him.
There were probably other girls
who saw me with him, wanting more from him,
but then I was shoved from his lap.
I was pushed away.
Because my man was an abstinent man.
He's a strong man.
And if I could only of respected that
he would still be mine.
