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Lately,
Life seems to be moving forward with ease
I no longer feel trapped in a relentless cycle
I can finally be who I want to be

Kinda in this new space
Unnecessary wasting of time is let go
No longer craving unwanted attention
Kinda over temporary feelings and people

Give me respect and loyalty
Or nothing at all
I don't care about nobody's feelings but my own
Rather be alone than lonely

Kinda in this new space
I let hate go
I no longer speak poorly of others
I take it as it comes

I no longer allow anyone bad in this kinda new space of mine
A new space not needed for old ways
You can feel it as i speak
By the way i write when you read
That it is weird to be in your shoes
To infiltrate your mind, to see the truth
To experience the unique existence of being you.

But it is sort of sad
That with each visit i get mad
And repulsed
By the lack of trust
And the hate we take to tolerate love.

And we love ,but not ourselves
And we explore the void in search for help.

But i say Empathy is a lie
We must depend on each other
For the future to be bright
Fellowship won't be experienced untill you unite with the other.

Words Of Harfouchism.
What you think might help
I understand it better now,
The fall, how you missed the first step,
From there tumbling to the stone floor
And lying there till your brother
Came to find you when I had not
Been able to reach you by phone
And you had not shown up to eat
Your mother's Thanksgiving day meal.
No angel there to break your fall,
Past the curved grain scythe you had nailed
To the wall among the other
Antiques and bric-a-brac found here
And there at yard sales and antique
Malls.  You were a scavenger, lost
Among the women and children
Who might have made a family
And yet did not connect somehow.
I recognized your pain, knowing
How you tried the medications,
Manic at times, though never quite
Level and never good enough
To replace the Russian water,
Cigarettes and desperation.
I carried you out, with our friends,
Mummified like a believer.
You've come back in dreams and handed
Me pieces of your muddy flesh
And broken bones and said make words.
Sometimes my words tiptoe in
Hiding in the shadows
Peeking behind curtains
And under beds
Climbing under covers
I shiver

Sometimes my words
Have teeth
Biting and tearing
I struggle to contain them
Lest they offend
But usually fail

Sometimes my words
Are as my lips
Soft and tender
So ready to surrender
Sensuously sliding
Along a cheek, whispering

Sometimes my words
Are as wild as birds
Starlings dancing on the wind
Set to beautiful music
And synchronized waltzes
The beauty makes me cry

Sometimes my words
Are like a hot ball in my throat
I almost choke on them
I keep my teeth clenched
Because I can’t contain
The pain

Sometimes my words
Are in my tears
I need to share
Prepare, exposing
Realizing I am minimizing

Sometimes my words
Are in my eyes
The green facets
Like a gem, glitter
I am wild and unfocused
But once penned
I rarely rewrite
I was at my first meeting
with a facility Director.
I would be starting an audit
right after the meeting with her.
There was a little brown and white dog with lots of hair.
And very distinctive black eyebrows like Groucho Marx.
He rolled into the office
with a ball under his tummy.
Very cute.
The Director told me
he was the facility’s mascot.
His name was George.  
Even though my associate
was with me,
George seemed to prefer me.
He nosed the ball towards me.
I took it and rolled it across the room.
George ran to get it
and brought it back to me.
By straddling it and walking it to me.
The Director said he could do that all day.
I rolled it once more.
I ignored George
when he came back with the ball.
I explained to the Director what our role would be in the facility.
Mostly educational...
I felt George sniffing and licking my bare leg.
I looked down and George looked back at me suggestively.
And seemed to grin.
I turned my attention back to the meeting...
George started ******* my leg.
Looking up at me with adoration.
I reached down while still talking
and maintaining my composure,
tried to pull George off my leg.
He tried to take my fingers off with a snarl.
The Director picked up George and saying “Bad Dog” she placed him
on a chair behind her.
He looked at me and licked his lips.
We continued our conversation.
About 30 secs later my leg
was being molested again
with even more vigor.
And wanton disregard for anyone listening, he started to moan.
The Director seemed to get upset.
Finally!
She yelled his name.
In complete mutiny he just ****** faster.
She picked him up.
I asked if he could be taken out of the room and the door closed.
She said no,
because the dog needed to learn the rules.
My associate’s shoulders were held
very rigid, holding back her laughter.
George was placed right back on the chair.
As soon as the Director sat back down George flipped over
and gave me a look at his “package”
And wiggled his brows again.
This time including a definite canine grin. The gleam in his eyes was pure lust.
I knew he wasn’t done yet.
At this point I, who was supposed
to be running the meeting,
was totally preoccupied
with the little *****.
I gave him my most menacing look.
He seemed to find it arousing.
His eyes made a promise
that I refused to give in to.
George the molester put his head
down on his paws and with limpid eyes watched me without blinking.  
I finally began to participate in the conversation.
My legs and feet tucked under the chair
I was sitting in.
George got off the chair and crept
toward me, almost on his belly.
He got to my side and  disappeared under the desk I was sitting in front of.  
That was ok.
I felt my legs were safe.
Without warning I felt his tongue
gently licking my ankles.  
He had obviously decided
that foreplay was needed.
I tried to ignore it
but he was rolling his tongue
around my ankles seductively
with a couple of swipes up my leg.
I kicked him and saw the Director wince.
I gave up and gave a leg to George.
The little *******.
I never went to that facility again.
I assigned it to an associate
and she never had problems with George.
People at my office sent me photos of dogs posed suggestively.
A lot of dogs.
Jerks.
 Aug 2018 Keith W Fletcher
jus
what other objects do you have,
to turn them into metaphors
that profess
your affections for me?
do not give me flowers,
or anything that exists in nature.
keep away the comparisons from seas,
the sun, and anything in between.
i have heard them all from past lovers,
& they all left me in time.
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