A bag of bricks
hammered my knees
and I fell back
into my seat.
It could've been
the lack of sleep
that surely caused
my eyes to cross.
And before I knew
up what happened
my ****** reaction
sent mind spinning.

Red and spots
across my vision,
fireworks on
my students' faces
and words I mixed,
I wasn't there,
phrases for parks
with wine eyed glances
and starry looks
and cold, blue irises
with lime diamond leaves
and cream spring breezes
blown on by
the longing hidden
on a picnic blanket,
spread out, limbs numb
on a picnic blanket.

But this time
it was wide.
This time I tried,
I did, I spoke
myself out.
I talked it all
through to me,
for me to hear.
I needed a,
"Why not?"
and of course
I had had it
stock-piled up
in storage.
Boxes upon boxes
of, "Because."

Nearly convincing,
nearly enough
to keep me,
keep me silent,
but my voice
soars above
and I lie
staring at
ouroboros
dancing around
in straight-lined,
patterned flames.
D-Dragging
their feet,
eating themselves
again, devouring
and smiling,
inviting me to feast.

Craving of the flesh, passion and desire.

Although it's a want, it continues fueling the fire

Hormones and images only fan the flames,

The Red of *** coursing  through my veins.

Will it ever die down to embers and coal

Or is it destined to tug at the body and soul?

Is this hunger to be embraced and indulged?

Or suppressed and ignored?

As soon as I said that
God laughed upstairs.

You inspired me at least.

There's two huge mistakes:
when you shoot and you shouldn't,
and when you should and you don't.

Nobody knew
about the killing
but all of them knew how to get out.

Don't fix a mistake with a mistake.
             Don't be pride.
                              Don't disappear.
I know you have a tendency to do that.

We know who we are
but we try to convince each other
that we are something else.

And I don't want to do that anymore

I tripped on a forest of roots & lost my clothes.
When this happened, I felt less a lady
in shame of uncovering from pink, frilly things

the shelter like feathers on a peacock or
ribbons track-marking a braid –

I was enclosed in such a house that I must have
become it myself. ****, I saw tiger-stripes
eating their way from my hips to bottom
and made a big taproot, a radix to the physical

me, as rosy as a flower in the dead of spring
even billowing as petals will for wedding vows –
the single, womanly cavity I concealed

how together we became such a dollhouse
for nature and its ***** hair:
I, taught to play with my own frilly, pink thing.