Touch me
With the tips of your fingers
Gently
Across the small of my back

Touch me
With both hands
Securely
Fastened to my hips

Touch me
With the rise of your chest
Intimately
Pressing against mine

Touch me
With your lips, your tongue
Hungrily
Tasting the salt on my neck

Touch me
With the rest of you
Finally
Becoming who you touch

Those little electric currents
That pass from your skin to mine
Frankly
Keep me alive

That's why I'm dying

All I know
Is how
I feel

And sometimes I
Wish I
Knew nothing

I collapsed the seats of my Rav4
You watched my *** the whole time
And saw an opportunity
As I bent over between the front seats
One, two, then three fingers
While fumbling to turn off the hazards
Biting a seat to keep quiet
Accidentally turned the music back on
"Stay In My Memory" by Bim
The song from Him
**** him, I'll ******* instead
The hazards were off
The music still on
Your fingers making my body quake
From the inside
Twice
Strong enough to throw me around
Like I was someone cuter and smaller
And put me on my back
With a hand around my throat
Kissing at me like a dog
Making me submit like a *****
Three, four, five
"On your knees"
And you threw me there, too
Six
Around we spun
Getting rug burn
Lost count of the quakes
They started to blend
With the aftershocks
"Are marks okay?"
And then you left one
A hickey on a weeknight
And a Monday, no less
Next time, we need a bed
Rug burn is a *****

Nothing matters
Not the boy
Not the girl
Not the baby
Not the pain
Not the joy
Not the *****
Or the pills
Or the ****
So just







Go die.

I find myself
Running fingertips
Over the places on my neck
That you've tasted

Dreaming up those times
As solid as I can make them
To feel the rush again
Of your weight against me

Do you remember
How I taste?
Do you lie awake at night
Sweating out the details?

Does your heart still pound
Heavy and strong in your chest
For that love
You still don't comprehend?

I'll tease myself
The way you do
Only touching
For fleeting seconds

I'll think of you
And find release
Faster than you'd think
And it's like a drug

When I
Think about you
I touch
Myself

When the carrot finally snaps,
And covers the world in mushrooms,
And the thoughts and dreams of billions cease-

We'll be where that sacred spore takes hold,
Waiting for it to bloom,
Patiently waiting while making love

Sacred spores with sacred purpose!
Find your targets well!
Find us! Find us!
We are fertile soil!

How delicious would it be,
For spore and seed and egg to meet?
A life beginning,
And ending
In one spectacular flash and roar!

****, we'll go down swingin'
To every movement swayin'
Your hips and mine, sweet slammin'
You know what I'm sayin'?

And as the flash and roar subside,
We will be mushrooms
And tar
And ions
And eons
And eons
And eons

We will be gone <3

"I don't want you to think I'm racist. I love black people! I just hate *******."
Now, you will not believe how many people have said this to my face.
That they smile, thinking themselves so eloquent and clever,
Illustrates a problem to me much larger than the hatred of a race.

My tongue stays. I wouldn't want my "angry ******" to show her teeth.
She would ask if the color or the speech or the level of poverty made the black,
Or the ****** or the ***** or the **** or monkey or beast.
She may be eloquent and clever herself, but those white ears would never hear that.

We are conditioned to be blind and deaf and loudly ignorant to reality.
The rich and powerful have made us starkly numb to our own folly and pride,
So that we may believe ourselves to be indignant most righteously,
While we unconsciously hate all that is different, opposed, other, outside.

But I will be the same human with all my eloquence and cleverness, pride and folly,
Whether I am seen as "black" or "******" or maybe simply just "Cydney"

He showed up.

I didn't ask for him

But he liked me first

And in the way that's deliberate

****.



O, the hipster!

The ragged, jaded, passionate beast!

You slay me,

Slay me, slay me,

Love <3



He painted a nail in my bathroom

And told me I was perfect

And ****** me in his head

And tried to fight the instinct

To **** me irl.



****. ****. ****.

You saw the red honey in my eyes

Dripping down my face to my lip

And tore yourself

From stealing a taste...



But, when weary,

Lousy from drink,

Fuzzy from balloons

And your eyes,

Then, you strike!



Stars in my eyes,

You claim your prize,

Don't look now,

I'm melting, falling,

Tossing into a sitting position



****.

You threaten to nibble

I threaten to combust

No filters, no secrets,

Kiss me, dear <3



Fly away

To a land of dreams

And waves

And stars

"Goodbye Forever."

Wild, curly brown hair
Big ol' brown doe eyes
Her father's sweetness
And her mother's sass

She might be a painter
Or a writer
Or a nerd
Or even an athlete

She'd be half dreamer
Half thinker
All-knowing
And all-loving

Her name would roll off tongues
Wrapped in affectionate sighs
And stern instructions
And resounding respect

Creating her with you
That magic power God saw fit to give
We're trash, but
She might not be

We would raise her
On spicy food
And kisses on temples
And lullabies

She'd speak your language
With my conviction
Killin' 'em
On multiple continents

Our little girl
Would be you
And me
On fire

It's been almost a month. Not one drop of alcohol, not one puff of ****, not one moment outside of sobriety. Over two months without ****. The tiny, bright-eyed black girl with the halo who hangs out on my left shoulder is the happiest she's been since Mormonism. The ***** with the horns- my righthand gal- scowls and shouts "WHAT'S THE POINT!?"
Some days go by without much bitterness, but none without any at all. Am I an alcoholic? Probably not. Am I a nymphomaniac? Probably not. Am I severely affected by my choice to remain sober and celibate? Bet your ***.
The truck keeps me sober. The memories keep me celibate. I'm responsible enough to stay off the bottle and pipe while driving this rig, and I'm angry enough about my luck with men to stay off ****. Inebriation suited me well, even when it was Jesus who held the lighter. Now, I'm sober once again, with my thoughts, with my *******.
Jesus is a hell of a drug, though. When you believe that this life gives way to something beautiful, and that angels can hear you, and that a good heart is rewarded, you get pretty high. Lifted, some might say.
I was easily dissuaded. Not by the truth, but by the hands of Satan himself. Snakes are thin and clever, and have a deliberate way of moving. He slithered over my body, slowly, starting at my waist. We danced to swing music, and He didn't follow the steps. He was loose with drink, and grabbed my ***. Now, I don't know if you've ever had your *** grabbed by Satan, but it leaves a mark. I'm still not sure if it ever fades. Probably not.
Every part of me that He touched, kissed, pulled, licked, grabbed, bit, all scorched and filthy. If Jesus is a drug, Satan is strong drink. He is liquid fire, drowning every pore in poisonous bliss. Jesus wants no part of it. Jesus warned me that Satan never satisfies, only teases. He warned me that I would become Satan's slave if I let Him touch me. Worse than that, I let Him **** my face. I let Him ****** His burning **** down my throat with its heat intoxicating me beyond any drug or poison I'd had before or since. I let Him bury His face between my thighs and send me into a fit of hysterical giggling after ******. He sat His throne and observed me writhing on the floor before Him. I no longer belonged to Jesus, and He knew it. This pleased him greatly.
I gave myself to drink shortly after, for Satan stopped giving me pleasure. I gave myself to petty, unfulfilling *** with many strangers. I gave myself to wickedness that never tasted as good as his **** or felt as good as his tongue. He silently laughed and watched from a distance, admiring His handiwork. I would plead at His altar frequently, touch me, **** me, take me, please! and he would only laugh, stroking his **** to tease me. He needed not my body. My desperation was His only goal.
I am now in a state of wretchedness, hoping for redemption. Satan has me still, but I long to be free of him. Jesus would have me back, I know it, but I may not want a master. I have many chains yet to shed. The pleasure I once felt in the Hell I mistook for a game room haunts my resolve. I fear that Satan will tempt me again once He sees the burns healing, but I know His face now. I know His hands. I know His voice, and heat, and music. I know the pain of leaving Jesus for a devil who feeds on my hysteria.
I'm longing to be free woman, but ****, do I need a drink...

A woman has a certain right to her delusions. Her dolls come to life, and they talk to her. They tell her that there is a world of unending beauty. They tell her that there is a prince there, and that he loves her. This prince is her lover.
She has a certain right to choose her lover. To choose that prince to place beside her in the dollhouse, on the never-empty throne. She has a certain right to love him in her Candyland.
The prince has no flaws that would offend the spirit of a woman. The prince is unapologetically sensual. The prince is to be made a king by the power of a lover's inspiration. She is that lover who will make him king, in her dollhouse. In her Neverland.
She knows he isn't real, deep down. He is a reflection of a human man on the pure water's surface. Perfect for a dollhouse. The human man is danger. The sensual human man is death. She can only hold her breath so long, and she will never come up for air if he keeps her. She dies happily-ever-after in her mind, but is often left a bitter specter. Let her have her mind, her garden, her delusion.
Let her have the visions of an unending, beautiful together. Let her have the dreams of making love underwater. Let her stare through him to the shiny king on the throne. Let there be much hot blood spilled.
He is no prince, but a king already. He reigns over a kingdom of hidden things. They would burn her hands and thighs with volatile reactions, she can never know them. She sees them, and longs to place them in her lap and admire their heat. She would scar herself for the beautiful pain of the fire of his passions.

And so, I'm not so much silly as I am female. I'm not so much crazy as I am woman. I am plagued by my need for fire and my lust for pain. How could I ever be expected to sit and stare at walls? There is no oxygen in this box, and so there can be no fire!
The little throne in my dollhouse was burned to ashes. I wanted no king, nor did I wish to rule. I only longed to be touched and handled. No queen can rule in a state of hysterics. What would the people make of my hands and thighs?
I have a certain right to choose my lover. I have a certain right to burn down room after room in the dollhouse with the flames of my momentary hysteria. I **** the marrow of my lover's passion and leave him a husk, for he often hasn't much. I am a witch, draining the blood from him with every movement of my hips, using his essence in rituals much too taboo for discussion, eating whatever remains. I do it all in my dollhouse.

There is a Wild King. I fear him tremendously. The Wild King has the power to overthrow the pile of ashes. He is an unstoppable force, and I am merely painted as an immovable object.
In my dreams, he is a wolf, I am a lamb. He grabs my throat with determined jaws and thrashes nearly all life from me. I no longer move, yet I still breathe as he finds the softest part of my abdomen to start his feast. I feel every piece taken, and think "yes, yes..."
My fear of the Wild King is eclipsed only by my lust for him. To be a lamb for his slaughter is my only fantasy. To be his feast night after night is my only desire. The sensual human man is the sweetest death, and I can only hope  to taste it.
Wild King! I'd bet he tastes of wild strawberries, sweet with a kiss of tartness. He is passion and tenderness in tandem. He is a heat that melts the resolve slowly, like chocolate. A witch such as myself could never dream of claiming such power.
I wait for the Wild King in my scorched dollhouse. At night, I can hear him howl and sing. Sometimes I imagine he is closer than the night before. Let me have my delusion. He is not at all mine, but I pretend I could have him. My greatest fear. My only lover. The only lover I dare not choose.

But how I loved you

I loved you with the heat
And the drive
And the mania
Of a dry brush fire

The loss of life was tragic

¡ I want to get pregnant
With a ******* daughter
And run away
To the south

I would carry her
First in my belly
Then to my breast
Then on my back

Through mountains
Where the language
Flows like rivers and streams
Con tildes y acentos

We would eat with our hands
And bathe under moonlight
Singing to the gods
Howling with the wolves

Our home would be Earth
Savages to money
And billboards
And national pride

Me and my ******* daughter
Anathema to the world
That sings praises
To purity and capital

Me and my ******* daughter
Weaving through time
And happiness and sorrow
Like the river

Maybe she would run
From that life
That would seem to me so full
In search of más

Perhaps she would fly away
To learn inglés
And meet her father
And cousin and grandma

To live in a house
And eat with forks and knives
Drive a car
And have an office job

I can only hope that in my twilight
She would return to me
To sing again
Con los lobos !

I'll sit here,
Wasting away in your memory,
Surviving on fumes
Of a love gone dry

I'll wait here,
Counting the moments and nights,
Cursing the heavens
For a hope I lost

I'll sleep here,
Dreaming of what could've been,
Fading to grey
In a sea of your thoughts

Thieves in the night
Liars, scandalous harlots
They dance, they sing
They give no secrets away

Servants to the senses by day
Soldiers to the battle by night
Subjects to no king
Least of all, the mind behind them

Murderous, treacherous,
Maddening, Fierce
Demons and Sirens
Hold not a flame to their light

Felling the mountains
With naught but their will
How easy a mark, then
Must they have made my heart

The hands of a stranger
Exploring the hem of my skirt
To the heavy beat
Vibrating through my spirit

I'll move my hips
As slowly as is needed
To turn your flesh
To burning stone

Pressed against you
Like a proposition
Zero words spoken
Every promise broken

You may think of me
As a wretched tease
But it's the only advantage
I claim over you

So, touch me and squeeze me
Dance with me til midnight
I don't need a pumpkin
I've got my own car

So I'll leave when I please
To a chorus of pet names
Without even
Telling you my real name

We'll just go with "Babygirl"

Poetry
Spilled from my mind
Like water
From a Tennessee cliffside
In the Spring,

But lately
I've been sober
And the poetry
Has stilled itself
Like water
On a Tennessee cliffside
In the Winter

At your core is a glowing stone
That hums, radiates warmth
And asks that you ******* LIVE

That's where I come in

How do I ask
To rip it from your chest
KALI MAAAAA
So that you can know it's real?
Should I just reach in? No,
Not without permission

May I, then?
I'll do it slowly, gently,
One body-numbing **** at a time
Two forceful heartbeats at a time
Three sweet, loaded words at a time
Until you hear the hum

Now then, let us **** ourselves
Gradually, so the living tastes better
Fill your lungs, my veins, our stomachs
Handle me with carelessness
Until you feel the warmth

There! You barely noticed!
The stone rests in my palm
Your blood drips silently to my feet
The hole in your chest fills the room
This is why I came here

Terror, panic, fright, confusion,
As I calmly turn away
For now, you'll think you can't go on
But remember! Yesterday, it wasn't even there
Now, you grieve the blessed *****
So I won't call you pathetic out loud

This is why I came here
To show you how the stone
In its brightness, song, and warmth
Will bring you to the center of all good
Then tear you down to hell with its absence

You should learn these things, my dear
For you taught me well
When you took mine for yourself
Without even knowing what it was

Screaming, crying,
No one cares
Fighting, kicking
No one sees
Panicking, despairing,
No one knows
Drinking, smoking,
No one joins
Waiting, watching,
No one here
Shouting, calling,
No one there
End it all,
No one could stop it

Hours of sub-conscious-ness

Between the fight and now

These days, I always wake

Before the sun

Before you

And remember the fight-

"Well, MAYBE
Ifyouweren'tsuchafuckingbitch
Spoiledbratcunt
Ihateyou
Bitc­h
*****
*****
FuckyouIhateyou"

I look over

Knowing

When you wake, you won't remember

It always takes a while

The sun will make you squint

And you will smile

Because, really-

"Good morning, love!
Iloveyou
Youmeantheworldtome
You'resobeautiful
Kissme,love
­Love
Love
Love
IthinkI'llsleepalittlelonger"

The dog whines at the door

As you try to close your eyes

Feed me, walk me, pet me

I will let him whine

It's the only revenge I have

You finally sigh

"I'll get it, love"

You stand out of bed

And I notice

You have morning wood

Mi corazon
Mi Alma
Mi querida sombrita

I'm going to hell
Y tú, a la casa de tu abuela
Ms. Rachel and
Bubble guppies
And Paw Patrol
And plenty of snackies
But no mama

Everyone assures me you'll never remember
But I worry
That you'll always wonder
Why you worry about me leaving you

We only want to feel alive

To have our hearts race menacingly

To burn with delirious abandon

And that

Is where

I found

You

Like blood in still water
You beautifully float through me
Red flowers blooming and fading

Irradiated, distant dreams
We won't really be harmed
Until we doff our gas masks

We'll dance on the corpses
Of our former selves
And be deemed wicked by all

But we weep at the graves
Of all our past lovers
For all the pain they have gifted us

I run naked through the woods
From your intoxication
Lashed by every branch and twig

Only to find you in a field
Waiting to wash my face and wounds
In a pond of your living waters

Dry my skin with your breathy sighs
Clothe me in your finest regard
Sing me to sleep with the smell of your incense

In the morning
We may just have to
Do it all again

We
Are
Allowed
To
Have
Flaws

I bleed bacon grease,
I sweat *****,
And I cry pure salt,

But you expect me
To function
Like a normal human

You are
A waste of space
Of time
Of energy

A waste of breath
A waste of Love
A waste of Fear
A waste of *****
A waste of ****
A waste of a good ******

You are a waste of me
Go away.

I think I am
Alone, but
I'm actually
In bad company
Because my thoughts
Abide with me

I can't sleep
When I think about
Your ruthless race of men

You could say
That I'm just bitter
But hear me tf out-

They've said,
The respected among you,
That I inherently
Think
I'm supposed to be
Stupid

They've said
That my skin
Causes
Irrational and violent
Aggressive
Hypersexual behavior

You've believed them
Because
Let's ******' face it-
You trust each other
Ugh

But I'm
Just playing
The RACE CARD

Ya know?
The worn-out card
I've had since birth
That works so well
At what?

I'm not sure...

My coloring
Has earned me praise
For "rising above"
Above what?

I'll tell you:

Rising above
The white opinion
Of what is real
And what is fact
And becoming what THEY see
As an anomaly
Huh.

My RACE CARD
Is full of punches
Redeemable for
A lifetime of
***** looks

Why do I do this, again?
Oh, yeah-
I'm angry

I'm angry at Rick
I'm angry at Stephen
I'm angry at Jim
I'm angry at Donald

But that's natural

Like the Fact that I'm
Less Evolved
Less Intelligent
Less Civilized
Naturally

Black-on-black crime
Is out of control
In this country!
Pull up your pants
And take care of your children!

But I **** white boys
To the dismay of proud sisters
That don't ask me why

Here's why:

They are e a s y
And w e a k
And I don't mind
Seizing my *******
And their self-esteem
Because they know
Who's ******* who
By the end of the night
Their *****
Are MY s l a v e s
My ****
Is their M A S T E R
Truly, this is ¡JUSTICE!

I will think on my
Hypersexual conquest
My feast of white flesh
With triumph!
The only victories
I claim

And I
Will sleep
Less

Boop

(Actually, I love you.)

To watch him is to hunt him
To wait for the precise moment
That I will choose
Not to pounce

To watch him is to bathe in him
To let his presence cleanse me
Of all the impurities
Found in control

To watch him is to shout to him
To yell out with my eyes and soul
Oh yes, we're fallin' down
So ******' help me up

To watch him is to devour him
To taste bits of well-aged memories
And grow mad at the flavor
And swallow them whole

To watch him is to love him
To fear him, trembling and forlorn
Never tell him, never tell him
Fearlessly watch him

Tell him anyway

Sometimes
I sing harmony
With Patrick Stump
And pretend we're dating

I woke up at nine.

Auld Lang Syne
And Au Revoir
Don't we look
So pretty in gold?

The red exes
Of 2018
Splash across
Our calendars

We smile and laugh
And drink
And kiss
The black year goodbye

So, why does this feeling
Excite me so?
This breathlessness
That threatens me

I'm pretty sure
It's killing me
To feel
This way

There are certain things
That are constant
At every truck stop:

The **** bottles,
never far from the trash cans
The diesel rivers,
perfuming the air like iridescent, poisoned flowers
The old men,
casting their eyes down as they walk
The idling engines,
singing lullabies to those in "sleeper"
The dog,
whining, waiting, or watching
The cat,
pretending not to care at all
The noisy reefers,
The bluetooth headsets,
The IFTA stickers,
The overpriced everything

And for me,
The hope that it will all go away

"I just want to kneel at his altar every night of my life."

In the end
We can pretend
It never happened

I won't say it didn't sting
To learn that you love her

But I could kick myself
For not seeing it coming

How long I'll be able to handle this persistent sadness before I finally put an end to it

for good

At the end of the day,
We cannot tell
If we are
Lucid or
Mad

It's not nearly like
Wanting to **** myself
So
Don't you ******' worry