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Myshele R Yee Aug 2011
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Atomic state of plasma, I feel so refreshed.
Just out of the shower and still not dressed.
Driven by the urge to kiss your clavicles--
I hope this is going where I fantasize it will,
And, Honey, I did warn you; I'm not nice from the waist down.

I only exist once a year,
To avoid the sun, to avoid the tears.
I'll trade you adulation in exchange for souvenirs--
A few wise words, a few beers.

I'm a slave--
No, I'm a sovereign.
Take me back to when I didn't know pain.
It sounds crazy, but they need you to stay sane.
We'll celebrate this holiday with a spoiled candycane.
Myshele R Yee Aug 2011
Do you ever sit and dwell on thoughts
of your old, unrewarding crushes?
They're always the world at first, but over time
their personalities begin to decay.
And sadly, I still believe
I caught a glimpse of something real
through the seams
of a stitched-up heart,
even though many truths were spoken in jest.
I will continue nail-chewing,
nervously,
'cause I can still taste their salt on me;
Never regretting-- yet, denying-- the deafening growl
of my chainsaw libido overpowering theirs,
as it cut right through,
leaving our bodies in a lifeless spoon.
This somehow helped me to overcome that kind of rejection
when I was still tangible to the elitists I wished would keep
out of my reach.
But now, I've paid my dime
to come to terms with the cool of the discomfort
crashing down around me, like
a black raspberry avalanche.

— The End —