Evil, sick and twisted boys.
If you like me, if you love me,
Then why do you want to hurt me?

Is my pain release for you?
Can you only feel the ecstasy of intimacy
With your hands so forceful on my neck,
Or with teeth deep in my flesh,
Until I'm sure I'm ripped apart.

Hold my hands behind my back,
Keep them tight above my head
So I won't push away when it hurts.
I'm someone's daughter,
I'm taking it like a good little ****.

Can you tell that I like it?
I worked really ******* it all for you!
And when you touch me so harshly,
The parts of me you like so fondly
Will never again feel quite right for me.

Is it okay to mutilate me?
Must I sacrifice such sacred parts,
And call sweet blessed love a surrender
Of everything that makes me sweet,
Of what's required to be complete.

I write these words on my jean pocket
And carry them around like an omen,
Boy's wont want to touch me then.

"The mother's heart is the child's playground."

i have one story to tell  to me again and maybe again, i caught myself dreaming the boundary between the energetic darkness and the travelling light. this vital story  when the mornings were pure the nights full of unknown beings, the rib cage the only space i knew rippled by the vital waves, by dread, incomprehensible vibrations, the beat of my heart unprotected, the horizon had not yet been invented, nor the sisterhood and brotherhood.  pain was an incessant falling into the void, the desire infinite, my body shattered into vital fragments, a misattuned orchestra of delight and terror (body-mind-reality continuum forever broken). at the crossroad of deadness and aliveness i was stamped with fire and water, i was an imaginary being without limits. even now i use a strange language and visions of the infinite haunt me, i taste life when i confuse myself with you and her and him and them, so that death is not incomprehensible. i was once a pool of vibrant nothingness, this terrible pain of life crushing itself inside the flesh, of reality and imagination, longing and despair annihilating each other.
my body carries patiently the invisible tattoos of vibrant scars, she waits for me to learn how to love the simplicity and the serene fullness of life. all i need is more words, new vessels for the infinite desire, more "i" in this i from the imperfect, impermanent and incomplete.

what do i have to bear?
an impromptu regression
to the form i was when i couldn’t feed myself
now i wander on the fields
connecting roads to their familiar destinations
i don’t want to feed myself
the sustenance that enters is a formidable beast
a creature who desperately longs to hurt me
my stomach hungers for a substance that won’t dictate the afternoons i have.
passed out upon a feathery bed
hands clutched to my stomach
as it groans.
when will the nightingale wake me up from this nightmarish disorder?
as though he isn’t already dead on my windowpane
i forgot to feed everyone else in my unbridled purge
once my life ends will i figure out that
the storm can mirror the looks of your body
and it’s not you?
if i saw a glance of my reflection
in the same pool that Narcissus did
would i drown myself because of all the hatred i feel towards myself?
it’s not me in the photographs.
oh, nightingale where do you rest?

He came up to me this guy and introduced
  himself
"Hello", he said, "I'm You"
I looked at him uncomprehendingly, even a
  little afraid
I thought 'How can you be me, I'm me... not
  you'
It's like he'd come to take me over
He was after my pronouns
He wanted to own me
It was like Invasion of the Body Snatchers
Or the Angel of Death, the Grim Reaper come
  to get me
I was about to take off running down the
  road
I thought "You can't take me, I... I'm already
  taken
Then I thought 'If you're me then who am I,
  I'm what then....
Maybe that was it, maybe I was a What now
And he... he was a What-not or a not-What
"You! You're You", I said back to him a little
   doubtfully
"You", he said again this time with emphasis,
  "You O'Brien"
I looked at him closely "You, you're You O'Brien" I said slowly confirming what he'd
  just said/told me
Then it hit me You!... Hugh the Borg from Star Trek (the Next Generation LoL), that episode the Borg collective Guy becomes an individual
"You're Hugh" I said greatly relieved, you're
   Hugh, Hugh with a H
It was like I'd been released 'So you're not
  me after all'.

When he'd gone though I thought, maybe if he had of being me he might have made a better job of being me than I did.

Some people blame me

for my normal, daily face:


You should have a rest!

Unrest. Lotte is ill
I grab my backpack
my compass and some clothes
put on my boots, a jacket
and I'm out of doors

On my way to Lotte
Being alone with myself
As long as I'm on the road
she will live
she will not die

She's not going to die, it mustn't be
She's not going to die, she's not going to die
No, no, not now, not yet
It's not the time yet
She mustn't, she won't

My steps stomp
The earth shakes
Where I go, a bison rumbles
Where I rest, a mountain rests
When I'm there, she'll be alive

The world reflects everything
from everyone, but luckily
we see very little of it

Except, unfortunately, the queen
who gains in beauty every day
But young men don't see it

They shout: the princess
is more beautiful - their fantasy
of daily pleasure, a dream

of effortlessly becoming king
So Helen does not trust herself
She looks in the mirror

that lies a false truth
she walks to the lake
(guards follow her remotely)

Her eyes search the water
her lips talk to the wash of the waves
her hands reach for a golden fish