I made some soup.
But it’s not for you.
It’s for me.
I don’t want you to change it.
It’s my soup.
Some people want to add some basil or maybe a little oregano.
But it’s my soup.
Some people think it’s too salty.
One person thought it’s too sweet.
But I told ‘em
f--k you.
I won’t change a thing.
It’s my soup.
Someone even tried to stir the ***
I grabbed the ladle
and bopped him on the head
I told him it was my soup.
Someone told me to turn up the heat
For what reason?
It’s a perfect temperature.
Someone else told me to turn down the heat.
I told him that would make it too cold.
It’s my soup.
Someone even told me I had to take some ingredients out.
But I love it the way it is.
It’s my soup.
Someone even tried to take a sip
The nerve!
It’s my soup.
Make your own.
Someone said I overcooked it.
I told her to leave me alone.
I like the smokey flavor.
To my horror, someone even tried to throw it out.
I grabbed the *** and put it back on the stove
Where it belongs.
This is my soup.
This soup…
is my life.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
Shedding the peel of last night’s encounter
Memories reel back and turn up louder
I stuff my fingers in my ears to stifle the sound
I shut my eyes closed to escape the images abound
The subtle rays expose my **** body
There laid clothes rumpled and left shoddy
How.
Can.
I
Run.
When Run Can’t be Done.
A film played in my filthy, scummy mind.
Of the deed I did that was much out of line.
A man, a stranger: An eerie ol’ bloke
I let him in, I let him in and out with a stroke
It was inebriation!
A combination of trepidation & degradation.
I didn’t feel love or even a sense of company
But I felt hated, hatefucked when he was in me.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
You know that feeling?
I can’t explain it.
Well…
Like that feeling.
That feeling of hesitance.
I wish I could
But I can’t
I want to
But I won’t
How do I just do?
How can I just be?
What is holding me back?
I don’t see anything…
Maybe I don’t see it because…
Because.
Because it is I.
It is I; myself that is the enemy.
How did I wage such a war within me?
So many battles
So many losses
The war feels so…
So cold.
So cold that it swarms the outside body
It seeps into the heart from the icy daggers of the soul
I shiver.
I can’t touch anyone.
I long for warmth.
I quiver.
Quivering…
My body’s defense against warm, gentle touch
When will it end?
When will I finally be at peace?
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
A tightening black dress to caress her every curve
A seat at the dinner table put on reserve
Pearls that choke the circumference of her neck
Her visage looking eerie and perplexed
The cuisine before her: A delicious French dish
Conversation at dinner was distinguished
But she was lost in a pollutant of words
Couldn’t speak; her tongue placed backwards
She stared intently at the knife near the goblet
She placed it at her throat, sliced it and bled
She bled and her blood oozed onto her filet mignon
The women at the table looked away & wore chignons
One guest requested to try the red sauce on her grub
It wasn’t red sauce; it wasn’t. It was fresh, red blood.
Another guest gaped at her red stained pearls
It wasn’t jewelry imported from Spain; it was blood.
The last drop of blood soaked her dinner
One guest commented on her figure, she’s getting thinner.
She was gone. Her head dropped into her French cuisine.
Guests resumed their talk; the blood still unseen.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC