I can't believe it's only four thirty.
I feel like I've been laying here
for a long time.
         I'm miserable, sick, hurting.
It's keeping me awake

             my bed is too hard
   and my brain is too soft

                               for sleep

                           at four thirty in the afternoon

I sometimes forget what you look like


                      yes
your ****** expressions
                             and your teeth

And I feel so wrong

You are the one I shouldn't be able to
forget
                       you should be scarred into my mind by now,
                                                                        lover.

A deep crimson red, like
the deepest part of me you've
                                      seen

Put that down, before you hurt
                                           yourself.

if i don't do it
                                          i know i'll forget
how to.
                     i know my poems
are ****
               Okay?
                             I know they
are. But I'm not writing
them for you. Sure , I might be wasting my
time but time will all
be gone soon anyway.
                Canyou   even understand
the concept of time?
                     then don't
               judge my poems
                    
                               with that crackpotmind

sometimes i get so angry
at the men around me
spewing out words without intent
since when is it okay to call me
a *****?

Today, I wear nothing.
I strip away the hot heavy
shoes, the tights that constrict
my airway. My underwear, lacy
and uncomfortable and unseen by
everyone but me.
My deepest darkest most sacred secret
is held down
            slipping between my legs is
my moist wet womanhood
not stopped by any obstacle
and you try to touch me there
on my pink love button,
touching it
to understand a different part
of me that you wouldn't have
been able to see otherwise.
I keep it hidden.
it comes out
when they come off


Release

there is nothing between my
*******,
              only skin
that's the way it will stay
until the day when i become
attached
                 then, I will keep my problems
there. I will keep hatred and
the harsh words between my
plump fleshy hills
I will keep them there until
you strip me down and
wipe them away with your
rough fingertips and lift my
body and soul up to a better
place, more accessible to you.
                the bra is burned
                my body is alive
                my body is ash
                now.

so wipe them away
              wipe away my burdens
and connect us now
         crawl inside my cocoon
       and turn me into a butterfly

crazy porcelain white reflection
I stare at it, at her.
feel the tiny pulses
in my neck slowing
          to short tick
            tocks