Feminine hands
Fumbling
Over the half-smoked bowl,
the lighter -
fft, fft, fft -
and the flame.

Unfamiliar maybe,
to fast times.

Fog around her
Face
And you can't even see
that she's not so
Fragile.

Lush beautiful days
where it's cold in the shade
in cities in California
I can't remember the names.
Wind moves through tress
my bare feet slip on leaves
in a place where I realize
Childhood was only a dream.

White in the face, I
Wonder, from
Where
Did all this stress and
Worry come?
My hands start to
Wrinkle,
Wrung together too tight,
The winter wind
having made them cold and dry.
So I sit
Waiting,
Weeping, and
Wondering why I hadn't
Wished for warmth
before

3/1/2013

Sitting alone
the silence around me,
it drowns me
as I wait for a sound,
a simper,
a whimper,
a whisper to know
that I am not alone.

Softly,
Sadly,
I listen to silence,
waiting for a light,
mourning the dark,
and living
like a still pendulum.
And time,
time,
Time alone
will raise me up
and let me scream.

1/1/2013

There's this picture in my mind,
I can't seem to erase.
It's more like a feeling
and much less like a place.

Retro music playing,
Anticipation for the lights,
But mine is for the beach
and for the innocent nights.
I'm holding onto the hand
of someone I once loved,
a child's sweaty grip
in naivety's glove.
Yearned I for safety,
Guidance and validation
But if that was the dream,
I should have made home
my permanent station.

So when I fell down,
I turned and I tossed,
And cried when I remembered
how my innocence lost.
Like the nightmare
from which you violently wake,
I so stepped into reality
to start the life I will make.

And that's where I am now,
Clutching my right to a choice;
scared to learn once again,
scared to use my own voice.

So I wait for a circumstance,
For a signal, a sign,
And someday I hope
that I'll grow my own spine.

28/12/2012

"Dibs"
you used to claim, smiling, and pointing at me.
It was a joke and I used to laugh,
but it buffered my relationship with
Men from Home
by cloaking my presence
with preoccupation.

Like royalty,
I caroused with you
the City of Sand,
safe to be free with innocence.
and the Kingdom I surveyed
was glamorous.

Then, after That Spring,
I fled, and
found myself facing unbuffered men
almost naked;
Without your jacket
I was chilly,
and my body was offered the
sticky hot sweat of **** Sapien Hands
for warmth.

Smooth operations
against my naive flesh
left callouses and bruises
only I can be responsible for
accepting.
I was generous
with the pieces of skin
I wore and tore for the pleasure of others,
hoping to find you again,
or someone close.

But this new kingdom
was not Glamorous
was not innocent or funny
or warm.
Living in the squalor of my own choices
a derelict of my own self-abandonment
I became Queen of the Grunge
and it was painful,
I tell you it hurt!

Homecoming Queen
dons a shiny elastic crown
but Homegoing Queen
wears a ***** one of thorns.

For a while, I wore it
allowed it to obscure my vision
and warp my mirror's depiction.
Scars I mistook for knowledge,
and though they have made me wiser,
it is impossible to prune the
Diadem of Dirt
when its very composition is barb.

So:
atop my head I wore two crowns
and from across my shoulders
I shed one coat.
Bruises I gained as well as experience
and a new empire I consorted.
And indeed my mind's severe questions
took my body places I doubt it thought it would ever go,
But as I return to our former palace,

I realize The Answers
for which I was so desperately searching
could be found deep in the Sand,
and that the more intensely
the more earnestly
my hands shovel into the dirt,
the warmer it becomes.

Now, I smile
As the Sand starts to glow
with the diamond fire of my own soul
and I am warm in just my healing skin.

Now, I return Home
and discover the circularity of enlightenment
as I am filled with the Gusto of Me
and of finding my buried treasure
deep within the Sand,
deep within my love.

I can take it anywhere
Because I know
I feel
I am
My own.

Upstairs,
There was a pause.
"Is this just about ***?"
you asked.

Instinctually I was offended.
Is this just about our bodies, you mean?
That my warm rub against yours
is just skin, just flesh on flesh
as we share the space inside one
and around the other.

I permit you
to taste the spit that comes
from the inside,
and gently you give it back,
And I swallow.

This is our exchange
of space and juice and breath
And yes,
with most persons
I watch from the inside, alone;
But I know you
Have tasted your tide
Pressed against your push and
Felt you
Share the space -
really Share the Space -
with me.

More
I want to know you more,
feel you more
that I am driven to this potent nook of intimacy
and hope that this time I will
yet again, be unsatiated.

So we do it again and again
to get deeper
to try to force through out figures
and be more together than
The mutual space inside one
and around the other.

Maybe I am alone.
Maybe this depth is unrequited.
But that is the necessary risk of Life
because in order to create
in order to continue
We all must make love.

I evolve past offense
and look into the eyes that
have seen through me:
"Isn't it?" I respond.