The fortress is soundproof no more,
And the voices I had once blocked out,
Are creeping in, seeping in, towering over me,
They accuse me, they shout.

Peaceful silence marred by vengeful shrieks,
Blissful ignorance quelled by demanding questions,
Pristine air darkened by black tears,
And surrounded by all, I stand in the centre.

A spotlight of love-turned-ugly encircles me,
And for the first time, I feel insecure, alone.
I take my hand and place it on my chest,
Trying to feel, in vain, my heart of stone.

Silent  heart.
Pulselessness.
Vacant chest.
Airlessness.

Such a curse- this emotionless machine
that swells up on others’ despair!
The robotic pump that never breaks down,
That’s never needed any healing or repair.

I hear the frantic beats of all the hearts
I stomped upon, nonchalantly broke.
Then, smothered by the darkness of my own being,
I gasp and wheeze, I choke.

When will my veins distend with passion?
When will my heart spout unhindered blood,
And add into my lifeless existence-
Fire and pleasure, pain and love?

I’ll unlock now, these strong iron gates,
And stand outside into the hot, harsh light,
I’ve been huddled up in the dark all my life,
I’ll expose my soul now, to set my wrongs right.

And for the one-
Who’ll unfold, unfurl, enter, penetrate,
And my stony abrasiveness, slowly grate-
I’ll tear open my chest, and silently wait.

I am worn down, exhausted and depleted; tired of self.

I am torn down by the mediocrity of men and women that
cannot see the façade that blinds themselves and captures
their thinking, rendering them ineffective, therefore they lash out with
false perceptions, unwilling to embrace and acknowledge
the error that lies within their own garden of eden and deception locks
their tongues tightly choking out the very breath used to speak
hypocritically of others.

From the outside in I see myself standing in a crowded space
within “my being” and all of the chatter of endless voices critiquing
“the me inside of me” confuses and distorts my ability
to comprehend  the distance and direction I should be traveling in.

I keep “bumping into myself many times over”
because self will not move out of my way
to allow me to gauge the time and distance it will take
to straighten my path.
I am stuck in the creases of my frown,
it being sometimes dark inside,
yet striving “upward” to a place of stability,
knowing that my end is “far yet to come”.

With instruments of humility leading me,
“something” within the interior of my mind
sands the walls of my thoughts down to clarity,
assisting me in an uncomplicated manner.

This  allows me,
to perceive the portrait
of self,  I have created, and
this complex dilemma I live in
forces me to embrace the contents of the “self perceived” reality around me,
making it easy…. and freely…for me
to “escape the abrasiveness” of the way
“I” see, ‘I” think about…and the way “I” judge myself
when it is not necessary…

©2013

I got dumped
by you
the only guy who I ever believed
really loved me -
how ironic.

I got talked into you
by you
despite my reluctance
despite my misgivings
despite all of my contrived logic.

We rode together
in carriages
and walked
snow-lined streets
in nineteenth century
New York City.

Resistance evaporated,
like steamy breath
from horses' nostrils
on a wintry night.

Despite the cold,
beads of sweat
settled on my arms and legs,
so sweet they were,
I licked them off
myself.

My troubled vision
transformed
into knowing
and there was nothing left
to banter about
to and fro
yes and no
up and down.

But just before the titillating ******
could occur
. . .
you dumped me.

I took that carriage ride alone
back to my former self.
I tipped the driver generously
for returning me
to the abrasiveness
of words
and the sense
of duality.
They became my comfort now.

He said he couldn't leave his wife
alone that night
even though
I propositioned him
handsomely.
Clearly he was tempted.

How deluded we mortals be.

Most of it happens
under the hex of
the small hours
between these brittle walls
in the chaotic silence of
daybreak
while the neighbors rush off
to work

Not a sound
but the hum of
a ceiling fan
toiling the extent of
my thoughts
til it's actually time to
“wake up"

The gentle crunch of
Kitty's breakfast
rings with such soothing
abrasiveness
even the crickets can't compare
Nothing can match that
care-free lifestyle I so long for

Long for...
How long exactly?
Three hours past dawn ought to
do it
unless dreary rays of light
burn through my eyelids
and rekindle the cyclical
carnival
that cons the day's authority
over sleep

Fear holds us back
It controls us,
paralyzes us,
and destroys us.
We can try to stop it,
ignore it,
or fix it.

Yes, we battle with ourselves, and will someday break through

So why must others battle with us too?

"It's all in your head...Just get over it...Everyone is afraid of something, and you need to stop worrying...Just do what everyone else does:  Ignore it."

Well since when did family mean rejection and abrasiveness?
When did it become okay to belittle psychological pain?
Why must there be a battle with you before the war with myself?

I need to know that you genuinely care.  
And I fear that I mean little to you.

God Bless the Europeans
All talk Islander Carribeans
S=S Seance Superstitious
The cool pledge Americans,
Suspicious regions secretively
scrumptious Gummie bears
legions

Rambling computer dummies
Those dragonflies showbiz
Dummies the crew
Zazzle S to Sparkle
Pickles and pregnancy
The Hebrew National

Nathans Franks contest
Are we missing the SS
without the ramble, it will  be
someone's gamble
Not many things to impress
Those little bites to nibble
The bigger bites stumble

All words over Google
Too much rice or noodles
All Gods foreign hot rods
With their lady poodles

Ramble words at the racetrack
All talkers hail to the Queen
The King deck someone is all
talk watch your back

Without the poise
Well mannered words
They will never be back
Backing up her timeless rose
Holy Grace SS for Serenity
smoother sail rephrase

Deep contemplation
Ramble on the
crossword mission

Rambles but silently
Like her meditation
So many changes new
revisions of more
accusations
Up-words like the
Moonwalkers

Show business SS- Abby-Abyss
Access summer dress more or less
Abrasiveness  love blindness
Aggressiveness to kindness

Rambling on words
The plethora
Traveling in Space like
Dora the explorer
True love confessions
Being subjective way too
submissive
How do we live without them
The right words to say to them
To live with someone
Not talking to them and
holding them
The wanting feel the loving
Time so in the needing

Rambling for lust well being

But bust to bust
All she got was ashes
All layers like a desert storm
So alarming like clockwork
Ramble words again and again
They were all deceivers
To Ramble or rambles on
like her last will OH Bill
What a smile ****
Double **** good cheater

And  those hope words
they named her

HOPE SS Smashing table setting
But silent words like
a deaf-mute accidentally wetting
How do we cope to
fly like a kite
The last testament to my
Savor S to be
(Blessed) to be visited
Her **** Chanel French lips
with nothing to say Oh! No
Her French skirt rips

Say Yes! to LUV she rambles
on and on just dream on
Like a recital play
Her rainbow sky
of the skittle

Who needs this
midnight rambler Joker riddle
At midnight he talks and his a
certain physique

He does have lip smacker
Fruity trustee puncher
He's the mighty hot roses
Bless S for her sanity
There she goes
Rosemarie eating Italian
Calamari for dessert
Tiramisu with her
Tiddly dee TUTU

Her cousin mumbles
Eating leftover
Campbells soup
Feeling like a chicken
without my words
I will crumble

There she is Robin Rambles
Hot Scrambled eggs
What about Rod Stewart
see those
rocker legs
Hot mouth rambling
Light her fire with
Apple mystique
candles

Her body angles showing her
good talking samples
She had the best cheeks
and dimples

Loved her Chinese food
Veggie steamed Dumpling
But jump for the love
Her or him to Babble
Westside story Maria
Word fight rumble
So cosmic her coffee moon-shiny
talk of the comic funny bones

Ramble like a song I tunes
The midnight traveler what
hot body fuel

Why is this world so in shambles
I need to find a smooth talker
The nocturnal
Writing so many words in
her journal

Roll of  words SS SCENIC -SOUL

The greater expectation
The poem of philosophy
Birds and the
Rambling Robins
Biology
Only one word saved them
(***) she rambles 69 reasons
Why her voice should be heard
Hour of rest full bloom season
Her rambling head
The French chef brioche
baking
The bed post was shaking

SS>> Sensual-Seductive new
awakening she worked hard

But he rambles forget the
S- Solitude words we
have no peace
And sometimes
Road less traveled
Full of maniacs with
arrogance
Let's not take the fun
out of the resistance

Ancient Grecian times
of swords and more
Sensual Roman words
A love decent she is
rambling
Like her first love
delectable
Like her first taste most
recent words can also
come and go with a stroke
of her paintbrush

Her most important words
can be deleted
Do you really feel blessed
Another (SOS) SS? save me

Sometimes,
I wonder if the words we say,
are simply
the words we need to hear.

Like,
“The truth is…”

I want someone to say to me
“Well honestly…”.

So as a rule, I tell the truth–
hard & brutal though it may be.
(“The aftermath of truth’s brutality
makes it worth the pain of telling it”,
I say.
“It’s shameful and it’s cleansing: an
abrasiveness I’ve become addicted to.)

Except, I’m lying. It isn’t true.

Honestly? The biggest lie
I know to tell is the truth.

Because the truth is that
the truths I tell are hardly ever (completely) true–
more a cutting sword
(don’t come near me, I’ll hurt you),
more a righteous shield of protection.
(my desire for truth is more about
hiding me, than helping you)
more a lie
(now that may be true).

Sometimes,
I wonder if the words we say
are simply
the words we are afraid to hear.

Like,
“The truth is…”.

I have often mistook
the abrasiveness of
this work, as an assault.
The continuous pressure
as overwhelming.
But, is it not coarse
paper, that is used
to polish?
Is it not pressure
that forms rare jewels?
Existence will always
be volatile, and
too often we push away,
but we must remember
what great beauty
can blossom from pain.

In this moment, I love the face of a dead man,
Repeated by chance in the guise of a stranger.

His lips quirk the same way in
Sweet sarcasm,
And in that moment,
Three years beneath the earth scatters,
Ashes to the wind.

And you are here.

His shoulders span the same width
And I know- cupped in my
Needful, grasping palms-
Their touch before I even
Pass a phrase to their owner.

I know, his abrasiveness is softened from a scour
To a pleasant heat
And those who hate it
Love him fiercely, unreasonably, and unquestioningly.

I know this
And yet this man
Is nothing more than a mirage left
In the wake of a fire storm.


After the remnants of goose-flesh have failed to leave my skin
I'll take it.

He told me:
  I want to change you, without so many words.
without the abrasiveness of so many words.
  let me do your eyebrows, he told me, what's wrong with them I asked:
they need an improvement, he told me.
' Hold my hand, Give me a kiss, I was about to touch your ****, but I held back some self - control' until his head rested on my breast without my permission.
All of this seems signs of something I have already experienced: a continuation of the same old play whose lead role never changes.

Lessons,
I want to take from these scars.
You taught me intimacy,
In our slow dances and looking right through me,
Through your feathered caress,
That surprised me.
You taught me selflessness,
In your offer of records to wake me,
Your persistence in listening,
Your blunt encouragement,
To better me.
You taught me patience,
Something that had forever eluded me.
In asking me to wait,
You pushed me,
And I learnt that gentleness,
Instead of abrasiveness,
Was what you needed.
You taught me to trust,
When I thought I was closed.
You'd laid out your palms,
With promise and no safety net,
And I said yes.
Before it felt as if my body and brain were created of bitterness,
But you helped me to see,
That I was lighter.
You taught me how to forgive,
Even as I felt like fire,
Was in my blood.
You cleared the fog,
Unintentionally I'm sure,
And took some of the weight off and offered to carry it for me.
The most important thing that you taught me in our time though,
Was my value.
You showed me that I was worthy,
Of star showers and held hands and whispered words.
In taking the distance that you needed,
And not pushing me away when I gravitated back,
I learnt how to say no,
How to put myself first,
Because I deserved love.
My darling,
Thank you.
I wouldn't have realised the woman I have become,
Had been waiting for me to find her,
This whole time,
If it weren't for you.
Thank you.

that hour is black
it is the hour to singe clothes, arsonists
the hour to burn houses and towns

that hour for children
to bolt from their swing sets for cover
the hour to board up windows

girls with guns
pistols in sweaty palms
deliberately weaponizing silence

that hour is red
a baleful war fought with ****** fists
sanguine faces flushed

that hour for isolation to prevail
to spread and slither into the crevices
the hour to bathe in ***** waters

cleanliness is seen as abrasiveness  
shadows of girls with guns
vile offspring with foul mouths

that hour is emerald green
months fly past like moths
roots sprout with intensity

that hour for desperation
the hour for skeletons to roam
piles of revengeful bones

the flies are swarming
on corpses

the hour is black in shadows
red in ****** waters
emerald green in dying beginnings