Temperatures escalate,
not too much more I can take
the way you fill my heart
with rage,
  reveals an empty page.
Emotions hang woefully,
  so lonely,
  suffocating me
Trapped inside my spinning head
I teeter with thoughts in red.
My heart bellows, and it howls
for moments of connection through,
your dreary, heavy, silent moods
   My words
        fall to
           the ground.

Unicorn sprinkles,
Daffodils jam,
A little star's twinkle
And some dragon ham.

Some emerald clovers,
A pint of fairy dust,
A handful of stover
And some canned gust.

Teardrops of a Selkie,
Well shaken, not stirred,
The horseshoe of a kelpie,
Late Iron Age sherds.

Some fizzy witchcraft,
One bottle or two,
And maybe a draught
Of love potion too.

it is not in my nature

to be as I am.

I am not just a creature

of mould or of damp.




I will not be converted

to some noxious disease,

nor will I be perverted

to just stand on my knees.




I will not bow my head,

nor my heart or my hands,

as they're all I have had

to stand tall through time's sands.




you can shout if you please,

I am still my own boss

and will never just seize

the days that have past.

April 16, 2017
Dear You:
         When I think of you, there is this gap of space unexplained. Almost like when you have to stand up during a spiritual chant or sacred ceremony. Or when you look up at the sky and realize how very small we actually are in this Universe of the Divine. When you see how the half full moon cups so beautifully in tangerine glow across your section of sky, and how the clarity of stars imprint the constellations of the human heart.

    I guess what I am actually saying is, you are so much more to me than a female *** *****. You are the sacred. The down and *****. As earthy and tangible as it gets. The source of rolling waves to exquisite pleasure. A pivotal and unique part of my feminine self in the form of the mystical, the beatific, the mysterious.The portal for the source of Life itself.

But let us start at the beginning.

I remember you, at the tender age of 5. Exploring the mysteries of my own body, under the covers where no one could see. At about age 8 or 9 I worked you over so well that a small explosion ensued, and I was utterly  stunned, thinking that perhaps I had done something wrong?
I dared not ask
a  soul.

Only later (but not much later..when the red flow started) did I read about the subject "Our Bodies, Ourselves" and later "Changing Bodies, Changing Lives". (Thank you, more open-minded stepmom :))

As a teen, I was lucky enough to have amazingly progressive ***-ed at my NYC school. AIDS was rampant and our ***-ed teacher, an ex-priest, had us rolling condoms down bananas in no time. How we laughed and turned the color of beets. And watching "The Miracle of Life" was pretty amazing.

By then I had a very good relationship with you, Little Miss V. I stroked and coaxed you out of your shell any opportunity I could. My cherry was intact, but popping and bubbling over was fantastic.

You are connected to the trials and tribulations, as well as the highs and lows, of first love and love in general, as I discovered in time. I was exposed to the vulnerable, the tender, the painful. I realized that your intense physicality was indelibly connected to my emotional source, veins mapped and held together my strings of blood and discharge. Somewhere, I needed to protect you, and myself, to know when to give freely and when to hold back.

You were the gateway to motherhood, to the slippery sliding exit from the womb of my prodigy. The intense pain and wonder of it all. The place where it all began, the result being three gorgeous and sassy love bugs. "What, Mommy? I came out of there?"

You are now the woman goddess source of me more than ever, and despite the powerful pain and ****** rivers each month, I am thankful. Thankful to be a woman, to be alive, for the inter-woven magic of the ecstasy and ardency of emotion. So much better to feel it all.

My womb with a view.
My moon's tides, ebbs and flows.
My candied oyster, succulent shellfish.
My pretty little cat.
My aching, drooling, dripping swamp of longing and loneliness.
My jewel of enigmatic darkness.
I will never take the words "****" and "*****" negatively, and can turn it right around on those attempting to do so.

For you hold the links to my heart, to my soul. You are my little nesting fuzzy creature, worthy of kisses and appreciation. You are my internal bomb ticking and ready to blow, my slick, hot bud poised to flower.

And, oh, how you flower.

k, Little Miss, V…Ciao for now.
Love, ***, the woman-goddess-love –light source you own

The ghosts cried on
One man one Bullet
So many reasons to live on
But none compelling enough
To dispel the ghosts from his head

It's kind of confusing, this skin I'm in.
Wanna break myself out, get free of this sin.

I'm living a lie, can't I just be my self.
I can't even wear clothes, without wishing I was someone else.

Listen, I want short hair, I want to be thin, I wanna be the pretty girl, I just need to be begin again.

Go back in time and erase the past, erase the version of myself i hate, at last.

I'll be free, away from the scorn. Finally I'll be me and feel as if I were just born.

Will I ever be happy, with the way I'm perceived?
Will I ever be happy with this look I've achieved?

You say that I'm perfect just the way I am, but make sure to sit up tall, keep your hair down, and wear a dress.

So you say I'm perfect, but only to your desire,
You say I'm perfect, but you sound just like a liar.

Am I lying to myself with this fantasy of mine,
maybe one day  I'll wake up, and finally be me this time.

Kiss me asleep
with your obsidian lips.

Protect my ears
from the cacophony nights would bring.

Fill the void
between heartbeats that skip.

Take me into the lull,
and into the siren song that you sing.