You make me cry,
In a good way.

I've never felt anything like this before,
Cradled in your loving arms,
Don't need therapy.

The time we spend together,
Is better.

Take out everything.
Tear it all out of me.
Take out everything.
Rip it all out of me.

Take what you need.
Tear it all out of me.
Take what you need.
Rip it all out of me.

But you only feel it on the outside.
You wanna leave it where it stands.
You feel the squish and kick it aside.
And hope that no one understands.

You hear the yell.
You ring the bell.
You fight the battle.
But no one knows just what you want.

You scream the scream.
You rip seam.
You grip the paddle.
And no one knows what house you haunt.

But you only feel it on the outside.
It never gets under your skin.
You take your hate and put it in your pride,
‘Cause that’s the only way you’ll win.

Let out an impotent scream,
When nothing’s quite what it seemed.
You cry out, “victim of circumstance”.

You’re caught up on your hate.
Ignore mistakes that you’ve made.
All your misfortunes were merely chance.

But you only feel it on the outside.
You turn your head. You look away.
You favour peace for only one side.
I guess there’s nothing more to say…

If I weren't burdened,
with the weight,
of being a woman...
What would I do?
If each step I took,
wasn't visually measured
in the shake of my hips,
or the weight, of my *******,
tell me,

what could I do?

I'd scream, for you to chase me,
and run towards the surf.  
I'd throw myself, eagerly, upon its
cresting, ******* waves,
and lounge on top of bluest water,
floating idly by on its surface,
like a sleepy lotus flower...
dreamy, soft white petals,
stretched limberly towards the open sky,
and aching, for the kiss of sun.

I'd be unconcerned, and unaware
of the arch, of my back...
of the rosy fullness, of each cheek
as I bent, and knelt
between cascading water ripples
to capture pretty shells, and shiny stones
and present them all, to you,
with childish enthusiasm.

If I weren't burdened,
with the weight,
of being a woman,

I'd run, wild, through floral fields,
and hedge mazes,
as giddy, as a fairy.

I'd duck, under arboreal tunnels,
and climb, into the low-lying branches,
in the little copse, of trees,
and slumber sweetly
in its leafy canopies.
I'd immerse myself
between paperback pages,
as the wind steadily rocked me
like a babe, in its bassinet,
and the wind, whispered,
through vibrant leaves.

I'd rush out, to greet the rainstorm,
as its icy waters, folded over me.
I'd race, and run, and dance,
through puddles that split around bare feet,
and warbled, their enchanting echoes,
around the circumference
of saturated, joyful, ankles.

If femininity,
weren't the loaded gun
that presses my temple,

I'd wander, for hours, in pre-dawn streets...
blaring eighties music, like a wandering minstrel
down city streets and quiet, tree-lined roads,
until the bruisy, tangerine glow,
of impending sunrise,
gradually re-skinned my cheeks, and face.

I'd clamber across the overpass, to ogle the seasonal starbursts,
from up high,
in the blankest, blackest canvas;
fireworks screeching, screaming,

exploding, into new life,
thrown onto dark paper, like neon splatter-paint
Charring the ozone, to a hot, charnel glow
in an impossibly starry summer sky.

If womanhood, weren't the knife
they use to press my throat,

I'd spend the entire night under the stars,
gazing upwards, the way I used to.

I'd explore the navy breadth of midnight streets,
all its blues...nearly deaf, with resounding cricket chirps
nearly mute, beneath the busy squeal, of brown cicadas.

I'd travel for hours,
lost in a poetic passion,
just so in love, with things.
Dreamily gazing at a natural world,
with no strangers,
and no cars, following me
while my artistic eye,
drank in the atmosphere,
until satiated.

I'd climb poles, in sundresses,
clamber over fences,
explore the world,
and all of its understated beauty
without reservation, or end.

I could go anywhere,
I could go,
everywhere...
and never need a chaperone.

I'd think nothing of chasing dreams,
that suddenly grew teeth, or fangs,
and came after me,
like the main monster,
in a horror cinema.

I'd open up,

and freely speak,
to the people around me.

I'd never be too afraid,
to close my eyes, again
and receive a kiss,
at the end of a sweet date.

I'd feel pretty, to feel pretty.
I wouldn't try to hide it,
to chameleon myself into the crowd,
in the hopes that no one else,
would notice me.

I'd feel like family...was really family.

Smile so hard, that the mask I wore, would crack.

In short...
I would do all the things I used to do,
before someone showed me,
how dangerous it was, to live.

My wet mouth, has left...

the heft,
of you,
to dangle low...

with your flavored ***,
still chambered,
in my strained
throat...

These hazy lips,
have swept
your member, in their
paint strokes.

And you, remain...
glittered, and glazed
in the shifting flickers,
of my
lip stain

Your thighs, and hips
are slick,
with spit,
restrained,
in chains, and clips...

do they eclipse
the pain?
When my fingertips
slip,
in sinuous ways,
between your straining limbs,
to maul, and grip,
your disco *****,
in a limber fist,
and to give their haul,
just, a little
twist...

"Mine...
You are mine..."

A sotto voce drawl,
on the "bottom" line,
as I scrawl these nails,
down your softened spine.

Now let's see,
what can happen,
when we cross, some lines.

Which one, is the Master,
and which one, the sub?
When a brat has got you lashed,
and stuffed
with your cheeks gashed,
and your back, up...

give that thick ****, a slap, but
I rub and tap, the plug,
until I feel you... clamp up...

Ready? I think you're ready.
I think you're hungry...
I think you need me.
But I hate, to disrupt you,
while you're lovingly feeding.

So let's give you something
that's fun to eat, then...?

Now, open.
Wide.

I'm gonna measure your throat,
with the bulk,
of the biggest, of mine.

Now I'm dragging the width,
down the bridge, of your nose,
and the fat, of your lips...
snap you, back, with a grin,
and a slap, of the tip...
As you grasp, at my hips,
through the strap, and the belt,
and latch on, to the shaft...
and then melt,
down the sides.

"Mine...
You are mine.
Don't you know...
that you are *******, mine?"

...With your lips, spread,
to ****...
as I'm thrusting,
inside.

Sometimes circumstance victimizes you
and you just cannot do anything.
Whether you were at fault
or someone else culpable.
Whether in a single woosh of breeze
or it took a series of connected events.
At such times,
you just cannot do anything
you can neither justify
nor whinge about it.

I rehearse the night,
wide-legged, wide-eyed,
a posture of prayer,
to hold and horrify.

I could’ve torn myself,
just fragile enough,
to keep you watching,
a girl made rough.

You chose the keyhole
to savor the frame,
An exhibit of flesh,
unsigned by shame.

In cinematic detail,
you bought my fireline,
paid in cold cash,
colder still, the outline
of shadows moaning in shrine.

The mattress too wide,
too deep, too stark,
darker than my nightmares
of men made of spark.

I longed to dissolve
in the softness of your hand,
an offering, a fever,
a ruin unmanned.

But instead
you wept into mine,
as if your grief
were more divine.