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thommya Aug 2015
she will move him with her mystique

sweet smile, **** scene

eyes that beckon a nearby need

will have him walking soon,

moving with a certain rhythm

a desire to taste her situation

he can’t call it anything else

until perhaps she offers him more,

yet, he waits, trepidation

he needs to let her make the choice,

he won’t find himself in a coveted posture

if haste breaks their eye contact.

Intense now her gaze rules his mind,

that has quickly shut off except to feel his unraveling

passion’s gasp for more, a need,

to walk inside her world

her vacancy she needs to have a …

new notion to perhaps caress her state of mind.

Always cautious

he can’t really ever decide

whether she wants him,

or simply would like to play him,

until she’s suddenly bored,

outside the lair,

he stands hopeful,

yet anticipates a certain …

thommya Jul 2015
I hit her again last night, it just happened, I didn't think about it, I just did it,

I watched her body bounce off the stove and her head just missed the granite countertop,

she watched us from between the doorway and I didn't have a clue she was there

watching her mom crumple on the floor while blood streamed from her nose.

I looked at her lay on the ground out cold, and wondered if I'd really killed her this time.

I knew some part of her was dead, but that was a long time ago ....

I guess I had just regained physical control.


Is that all it really is when we think about the physical abuse of another,

are we fighting for control in the only sickest manner that we know?

Why else such evil outcome upon the one we love,

what makes it right to hurt the closest part of our lives

to strike down upon that soul that we seem to count upon.

Is that really using them for the support they were first meant to be?

What about them? In all the callous delivery of pain and suffering,

why do the victims have to remain the most confused,

or are they really, perhaps they're not, perhaps they are simply

the victims they are meant to be, and society clouds that reality

by placing labels upon reasons and judgments upon excuse.


Yet still all the advertisements plead for the protection of the abused,

they ask us to open our eyes, to think again, to seek help,

they plead for the end to ihe injustice, and suggest the conversation

begin, rather than the blank stare of rage without any rationale within.

How do we explain damaging the vulnerable nature of the one we love;

where do we depend upon the solace of beating up our children?


I was 18 the day I was struck down by my brother's fist

because I had openly verbally abused my parents and he chose

to put me on the ground in a lesson he would later admit to me.

I remember at the time being shocked but understanding

he was protecting my parents from my own ignorance,

but the difference in him and our abusive society,

the distinction of his actions that shocking afternoon,

is he had no other choice, I had removed all options.

I needed to be slapped down like the dog I was at that moment.


But we are not a society of dogs, animals of lower intelligence.

We are human children whose values are gained by the closed fist

we are the confused that are  drawn to believe we are wrong

for whatever other reason would we be so physically slammed

by the ones we love, or those that once loved us as they suggested.

Perhaps that is the real confusion when that love seems to be lost.

It is not the needed moment of physical authority, far different than

the veiled angry, usurped result of inner turmoil and hypocrisy.


The public service announcements asking us to listen are not enough

Instead we really need to breathe in the beauty and elegance of those

whose lives we choose to stunt based upon our own inability to reason,

for otherwise their rules are designed to be read aloud by our closed fists alone.
domestic abuse - written for a friend that has endured more than I could ever imagine, and for the millions of others in her same position. Has to stop please!
thommya Feb 2015
When I drink

faded images appear,

silent, moving, attractive

filtered visions.

When I drink

that settled need,

gnawing reality

quiet departs

leaving little love.

When I drink,

you certainly cannot

know me the way,

I know I'm sick.

When I drink,

the fog I seek

envelops my soul,

blurs drawn energy

settles incessant.

When I drink

I will destroy

all that I love,

all that we believe

that new image of me.

When I drink,

I'll falter often,

while asking solace,

you'll hate me again.

When I drink ... I will die
on being an alcoholic and life
thommya Jan 2015
We are a fickle bunch that states a need,

A patterned life might only true succeed.

We dance in storms, rather grumble toward peace

Yet every chance we have we seek release,

The pain, oh, the misery of lost time

Fantasy today tomorrow’s spent dime.

However long tradition’s eyes remain

We ought certain know acknowledgement’s reign

Priceless, shattered within our selfish realm

Will become fodder feeds the restless helm.

Ah, the human condition called to believe

Error in judgment, in planning, might leave.

When then we succumb to fears that soon ran

Why then we will know, we have conquered Man
man, time, pressure
thommya Jan 2015
The way she moves,

on a dime,

toe planted and swing

supine, slender, salacious

with a passion,

she'll steal the room

and I guess that's fine,,

oh how much I desire

to sip that ...

to desire a sweep

of only her eyes.

I want her to want me,

to let me drink her ...

I can feel my hands,

slide upon her curves,

thin fabric let's me know

she can feel my eyes,

tracing her,

damp, shine, a lustre

to that naked skin,

I will delight like

a fine ...

oh my sweet dance,

move through my mind,

and let me taste you,

taste her,

dance with me,

****** my wine.
thommya Jan 2015
We are

We want

We often need

We would rather be

We will always wish more

We are the same,

you and I,

though you are vastly different

with how you live inside the same world

I try to exist in with you by my side, or nearby,

or simply on my mind nowhere in sight.

I think its funny,

when I imagine

the person that you are,

standing next to me,

I often wonder,

if when you turn away,

your reaction might be the same for me,

if I were to turn away,

but I haven’t yet, well not really,

maybe in a physical way,

but the years have traveled quickly,

that being a memory,

today is wondrous

when earlier in our lives,

that same day might be

a regular day,

regular people,

in a way.
thommya Jan 2015
I thought of you,

that night,

we were together,

with everyone,


I couldn’t move,

like a little kid,

I only watched your legs

move near mine,

my hand frozen,

wanting to touch you,

wanting to feel only your skin,

upon my urging fingertips.

That night,

I wanted to play with you

while everyone

discreetly knew …

I have to wonder

how many

really did realize

the many nights

we no longer thought about

our clothes,

an afterthought,

laying piled in a rush,

nearby, naked, nostalgia.
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