A monster waits for me
He sits.
He, the only gender a monster could be
He entertains the tantalizing prospect of his
tongue and teeth dancing over me
not just in my head
not just under my bed
not just there when the lights are off
But when I step outside my bedroom door
I can hear his roar
in my father's snore
This monster advertises what he'll do to me
on billboards, magazines, and movie screens
the scenes he paints
his paws on me and my kind
on us on we
begrudgingly our faces, our bodies on our hands and knees
below him, below it, that monster that thing
How the hell did we let him control everything
he makes us change our shape and size before
taking us to our demise
the siren mermaid framed to be an evil creature
merely just refusing to be prey
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
How do we express how grateful we are to have found each other?
Amongst the throngs of lonely, incomplete, souls
not yet satiated
Befuddled in their searches
Their appetites growing with each failure.
Yet we gorge ourselves.
Who are we to be so happy?
What forces at play do we thank and pay tribute to, lest this glorious gift bestowed for reasons I know not, be taken away.
What price did we pay?
A new fear?
That now my well being and life depend not only on my sense of self preservation, but on yours as well, as we now share one heart?
I pay it gladly and I offer you more of my share
My heart is no longer my own
My mind no longer my own
My future no longer my own
OURS
How did we come to find ourselves so lucky? So, Blessed?
What favorable manner of beings were we in a past life?
Perhaps we knew each other then too.
Perchance you were the Buddha and I the Bodhi tree that gave him shade those 49 days
Or maybe we were something less grand, but somehow still equally deserving.
I cannot say
by what design, or whose for that mater, we found each other.
Though I would venture to guess
We were made for each other
Simply parts of a whole being united.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
I could love you better in blissful memory
Then your flaws would slowly dim
It would only be right to tell lies of how highly I thought of you
soon lies would come to be believed as truth even by their source
I'll forget the nights I fled from you
The nights the dog yapped
and the nights I ******* my hands in my hair
ripping it out strand by strand
wishing to God you'd stop talking, stop screaming, stop breathing and being
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
eyes, they stare right past as,
cheeks i scorn you to blush
feet in you i place all my trust
all my trust for the moment
just for the moment
but the moment lasts,
still here,
it lingers,
persistent, content to hang like a fog
like a fog to remind you of the morning mildew on a leaf, on a snail,
on that new wound you never tended to
but you remember now the oozing bruising
the twig that snaps as you brush right past
your feet your weight
your fault
your fault
lift your foot
its too late
It lies there broken
the snapped and splayed fragments a token
a token of your toxic sick romantic notion
the notion that ends, like all thoughts do, with a love struck *********
lying
dead
in the mildew
Clean each blade of grass
yelling, "out **** spot"
****** ******
command you
your feet your weight
your fault your fault
lift your foot
its too late
you've tread too far
don't worry, the morning will forget you
don't you wish the same happy fate
(To let go sweet bliss of forgetful memory)
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
Why?
Why would you ever think that you could ever mean that much to me?
You stare at the ink-spattered glove moving across my face.
No, it isn't the smudged mascara of a thousand tears cried there.
Not the dried stain of a
Rainy. Dreary. Day.
So sorry to most pleasurably disappoint
And what have you there? Gleaming in your keeper's eye?
You dress it up and dangle it about my head like a cicada flittering on a string during hot Argentine, incense filled nights.
I burnt my finger once lighting the incense for nightly prayer.
That summer I blamed my isolation on what the burn had left: a large, sticky, unsightly welt.
The only trace of blind, naive, ignorantly whole-hearted belief.
My slightly, yet debilitating, wounded hand prevented my holding or shaking of any new body, or old body's hand.
But perhaps I only speak out of the need for a scapegoat?
Still, I hid the finger in tightly fastened bindings, as if to shut out just one more imperfection.
As if my inborn afflictions simply were not enough.
I could not stand one more earth inherited crack, nick, or stitch.
My empty, wounded, prideful hand wrapped around a cold, night sweat ridden glass.
The odor of vinegar, my makeshift poultice, rose to greet me.
To seat me. To allow the painful memories to slowly pick at and eat me.
Zealously. They make a feast of me.
Night after sarcastically lonely night.
But
Why?
Why would you ever think that you had ever meant that much to me?
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
He slipped his hand into my hand
and I hated
myself
Hated the patterns I always fell into
He talked to me
He talked at me
To no fruition
For no part of me would listen
I close my eyes to listen to the water
the quiet water, gentle water, water keeping only the moon and
us as company
With my eyes closed tightly
He kissed me
He Stole a kiss from me
He stole from me
What is it. I would like to know
Such success at drawing so many in
Tempting them to touch, but no captivating prowess
like a venus flytrap with no teeth
Why am I always a stepping stone
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 12:16 AM UTC
I am so much happier without you.
I take the time to write this, only because it is such an unexpected revelation.
I go to sleep at night not worrying that I am not wanted in the bed in which we sleep. Not worried that I disturb your comfort. Not worried that you dream me away.
I wake up every morning fully rested. I stretch my body out so that I occupy more space in this universe. I brush my teeth to my favorite songs and fix my hair to happy thoughts and it falls just the way I like it.
I do not question whether or not I am loved by the ones who should love me, no not since your eyes permanently took their gaze off me. You, master snake charmer. I had been so coiled up. But I have remember me and my venom.
I look in the mirror and meet my eyes and smile. No longer to I scrutinize. Now its only your image that I despise.
I am so much happier without you. I am full of honey. But I have none to spare for you.
You silly little Bear.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
The moon is there and she is strong
She taunts the ocean
night after night
It makes waves that struggle to touch her, as I do.
The sea's Froth forming futile fingers
that crumble
The moon is there and she is strong
You wish to need no one as she needs no one,
has never reached out
But many a time before she has been sought out
The ocean mourns her.
When she goes missing from the night sky.
Masochistic in its desire for her
But desiring her none the less
No longer a mirror without her
No longer a passionate body
No longer full of life
But ever reaching
The moon is there and she is strong
Her new face does not remember
She is ever forgetful
as you wish to be.
still that twinge of what is missing will not let you
It drowns everything you have come to be.
Like you were caught in a Tsunami.
The closest the ocean will ever come
to her.
She does not reach out
You unfold your arms and see her light through outstretched fingers
The ocean flails. It wants to touch her
First.
and Last.
You both will fail Neither will reclaim what they lost in her
The moon is there and she is strong
She does not reach out
She holds your missing piece in her palm.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 12:42 PM UTC
I hold fury in every space between my ribs
and in every hollow of every bone
Never before had I felt the strain and stress, the heart palpitations that result from the loathing abhorrence and simple seething self hatred that come from loving more than I am loved
Proper Nutrition holds that
the body must take in enough to replenish what it expends and still be left with a small surplus.
My body is undernourished.
My ribs are bare.
They feel the cold, though they've no nerves.
I feel the cold.
I am by no means insatiable.
But I must take in more than just the crumbs that would feed
a bird.
Feed me. Feed me. Replenish me.
Cover my bare bleeding ribs with your warm hands
Collect each drop of blood as it runs off
Bleed yourself and put the marrow back into the hollow of my bones.
I lay belly up now. But I am a hell hath no fury Hades Hound
And I will not hesitate to bare teeth and rip flesh from bone.
(The starving will feed)
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
why is it only the love of a man for a woman
written about in story books
only his excitement of pursuit for her detailed
like a foxhound with his nose to the ground
trying to squeeze himself into her den
with his hideous howls
Why is it only this that makes it into legend?
There is a more potent love
a more powerful bond
that requires no if…then proof
A love like I am the moon and she is the sun
Needing no exchange of an attempted quenching
of insatiable needs
I will revolve around her
nought but for the fact that I am of her matter
and she is of mine
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC