how do you stop your throat from burning
from salty tear-stained gulps and gasps
for oxygen that is no longer there?
there is too much carbon dioxide in the air now
and i want to fast forward into a world
where i can breathe in sweet helium
and ask for it to stop.
because there are times
when it's impossible to breathe
and when my puffy red eyes
can't open more than a millimeter
because you have glued them shut
with your accusations.
i didn't want to be gas station concrete any longer
i didn't want dirtiness to be my middle name
i only wanted to cleanse myself of you and your fists,
you and your laughter
you and your hatred.
i wanted to be clean.

*(a.m.c.)

Arise my body, my small body, we have striven
Enough, and He is merciful; we are forgiven.
Arise small body, puppet-like and pale, and go,
White as the bed-clothes into bed, and cold as snow,
Undress with small, cold fingers and put out the light,
And be alone, hush'd mortal, in the sacred night,
-A meadow whipt flat with the rain, a cup
Emptied and clean, a garment washed and folded up,
Faded in colour, thinned almost to raggedness
By dirt and by the washing of that dirtiness.
Be not too quickly warm again. Lie cold; consent
To weariness' and pardon's watery element.
Drink up the bitter water, breathe the chilly death;
Soon enough comes the riot of our blood and breath.

EDNA: Hello there, Dan my dear, please take a seat, but before you sit down, just let me put a plastic sheet over the chair.

DAN: Thank you so much, Mrs Sweetlove.

EDNA: Now, Dan, please tell me why you are known far and wide as Dan, Dan, the ***** Old Man. How did you come to acquire such a salubrious soubriquet? Don't spare us any of the more sordid details. My readers are all agog.

DAN: Well, there are three aspects to my dirtiness. Firstly, my sanitary arrangements and personal hygiene. How can I put this delicately? [scratches head in puzzlement and several lice are dislodged, much to Edna's distaste. She squirts them with super-strength LICEOKILL.] To be blunt, Edna, I don't wash much and I very seldom change my clothes. This means I smell quite strongly. And, as you will observe, my skin is quite grimy and unpleasant to behold; the boils and sores are not attractive to many people.

EDNA: Fortunately I am afflicted with a rather bad head cold at the moment, so I can't really whiff you too strongly. However, I can see your skin is disgusting and your clothes are a total disgrace. Tell me, is there any particular reason why you are so careless of your hygienic duties?

DAN: Well, I see it as a vicious circle. If I were to take a bath or a shower, I would only get ***** again quite soon. And anyway, getting dressed again in my old clothes means any olfactory benefit would be negated. Again, if I were to put on some clean clothes, they would only be rendered odorous by my unwashed body. And defecation and urination tend to get your lower parts ***** two or three times a day anyway, even if you wipe thoroughly which I don't. So what's the point, unless you want to waste all your life on synchronising cleansing activities? Also, between you and me, I quite enjoy the stench of my own unclean body. And it has several benefits: I always get a row of seats to myself at the cinema and I normally have no problem with queues when I go shopping: people tend to give way to me as a mark of respect.

EDNA: And the second aspect of your dirtiness?

DAN: May I talk to you freely about ***, Mrs Sweetlove?

EDNA: Oh yes, be frank! [nods eagerly] Be frank!

DAN: Well, let's put it like this: I am not very particular when it comes to ***. I can honestly say I have never ever turned down a ****** approach of any sort. I am, of course, bisexual and when I feel like a bit of impersonal *******, I nip down to the public lavatory in the park and have some there. What I normally do is wait by the ****** and whip out my grimy, stinking **** and flash it whenever someone comes in. I don't care who it is. What does it matter? Most people run away in horror, a few attack me and shove my face down a pan, but one or two let me **** them.

EDNA: What sort of people would that be, dear?

DAN: Usually tramps, the short-sighted, people with no sense of smell, degenerates, psychos, masochists, you know. A reasonably varied selection. Buggers can't be choosers. Who cares anyway? I've been arrested by the cops a few times, but they don't like to put me in their nice clean police car, so they usually let me go with a bit of a thumping. Which I quite like anyway, although it's cost me several teeth [shows hideous maw of rotting stumps].

EDNA: And how about when you feel like a little bit of the old hetero rumpy-pumpy action, Dan, my love?

DAN: To be honest, I don't get much rumpy-pumpy, even though that's probably what I'm most famous for. Speaking candidly, not many women fancy anyone as filthy as I am, even lady tramps have to draw the line somewhere. So I tend to have to be a bit pushy when I feel like a bit of female company. What I usually do is lurk around girls' schools, ladies' gyms, ballet dancing classes, hockey grounds, netball pitches, the park where the young mums push their babies' buggies, anywhere really where you get women and girls in reasonable numbers. When I see someone I fancy, which is anything female between sixteen and the grave, I just drop my pants and show them what I've got down there. They scream a bit but I can usually get a quick one off the wrist before they've run too far. I've been arrested a few times for that too, but it's a hazard of the game of love, I feel.

EDNA: [gulps excitedly] I think you mentioned three reasons why you are known as a ***** Old Man par excellence......

DAN: Yes, well the third one is a bit more personal. You see, I have a very sensitive stomach and I often get very bad indigestion, which means I **** and burp a lot. And I frequently ***** too, as you can see from the state of my trousers - this is probably a reflection of the fact that my kitchen is crawling with rodents and insects large and small. And did I mention this last bit? I really like eating my own snot in public [voids nostrils onto grimy paw and gobbles product thereof].

EDNA: I'd like to thank you, Dan, for sharing your opinions, emotions and ambitions with me and my readers here today [switches off tape recorder]. You truly are an unusually repellent *******. Get out of my lovely house.

*[END OF INTERVIEW]

After school in summer. An abandoned railway line, through a forest. A grey dress with red flowers on, the blue cardigan with sweat patches under the arms. Trying to conceal them. Not caring after a while. Walking in front, through the wild garlic. Not everything flourishing, some ******* here and there. The muddy ***** up to the track. Scrambling up trying not to get hands muddy, trying not to fall. Probably wearing impractical shoes. She was behind me, beside me. Catching her smell, trying to touch her hand, her shoulder. Talking about things that meant nothing but flowed: began and concluded satisfactorily. Only 17, so long ago. No doubt we talked of school, I don’t remember a word. It was the action, the structure of our communication, that was all I had. The unsaid was still sacred then. Reaching the end of the line. The line! It was a beautiful day, romanticized now. Warm in the sun and chill in the shade but I soon discarded temperature. The green from the trees came up from each side of the line and joined together at the top. The sun soaked through every visible article. All, except from the wall at the end that closed off the tunnel.

The space we were in did not exist to anyone else, no one was there, and no one had ever been there since we arrived. Vacuum packed world of complete perfection, apart from the mud, and the *******. But that was ok. The wall was black and heavy and cold. Near the top there was a hole. A square hole had been left or made through the ancient bricks, something forgotten maybe? Or to serve some forgotten purpose? I saw a challenger. The hole said ‘If you beat me you can have her’. It was not sinister. That did not exist.

Again I stood in front. ‘Bet I can get a stone into that hole!’ 15 feet perhaps or maybe only 8. Her eyes were on me: I desperately hoped they were. The whole of the back of my body took them in, I lit up with the warmth and the look. I would like to say it took only three attempts, that seems unlikely. What was she thinking? Was she looking on at the hole or at me? Heaven forbid she was looking at neither. I picked up stone after stone. They varied in size, feel, and dirtiness. I was an excellent thrower. I could throw a javelin, a ball, a boy; I adored my skill. My exuberance and elation guaranteed success. This was not a day for losing. Not while I could sift out the anomalies and incompatibilities without pain. There wouldn’t be a losing day until I understood that I did not yet know me.

The moment I succeeded in my challenge the celebration could begin. The rock perhaps made a sound as it tumbled down the inside of the wall but I did not hear. All my senses were now hers. Absorbed, obsessed. I was now permitted to turn around; to accept the look of admiration, or more. It was joy, certainly. Utter, complete joy. In skipping towards her she offered me her arms…… What words are given to unqualified human happiness? Getting more than you hoped for is even beyond that.

i lost my innocence at eight years old
and i wish someone would have told me that
i wish i hadn't figured it out by myself when my trust in anything that was supposed to be safe was already long gone
i wish i hadn't walked up to him
i wish i wasn't afraid to tell people that i did because i'm afraid to hear someone blame me for it
i wish i didn't blame me for it
i wish i never have to experience that awful feeling of simultaneous disgust, shame, dirtiness, and confusion again
every time i've taken my shirt off for ten years straight.
when i shower.
when anyone touches me even in the most innocent way.
that feeling like the only way i could ever feel completely clean would be to burn my skin off.
that feeling that consumes my mind out of the blue and suddenly i'm that little girl in the green and white striped skort again that didn't understand what happened to her
just that it was bad
the little girl that nobody taught to differentiate between what was okay along with the real, blunt reason why and what happened to her so any sort of physical contact with people felt wrong
i wish i could never feel that again
i wish it could be night all the time and no one would ever be around
they warn you about wandering too far from home when you're alone
about going out after dark and playing in places without people around
about the bad people, the sick malicious perverts, that you have to watch out for
they don't tell you about the good people that just don't know what they're doing
they don't tell you about the grandfather with dementia watching his grandson play at the park in broad day light surrounded by people
at least, they don't tell you to stay away from him
daylight has never made me feel more secure than darkness
and seeing people nearby has never brought me comfort
because nothing has ever made me feel more unsafe and vulnerable than that day in the park
in broad daylight
surrounded by people

The ground connects us through our feet
We connect the Earth through our minds
And connect our hearts through our hands
Until the ground beneath our feet
Begins to crumble
We dig up hatred and then repeat
As we stumble
Attacking the planet to cut our connection
And severing our stability
When the ground is filled with holes
And the ground is filled with those
We chose to dispose
For what they know
Or what they show
We told them no
And dimmed their glow
We feel dirt between our toes
As the quicksand embraces our ankles
We let a malicious mudslide flank us

The Sandman continues to introduce us
To our own eternal rest
On his endless conquest
For minerals in his midst
Sentiment unable to penetrate his sediment
The dirtiness in his heart becomes evident
When he drowns us in dust
And colors us rust
He feels he must
But he made a fatal mistake
Not realizing we are attached by soil
As the soil becomes a lake
We find relation deeper than oil

The Sandman seeks our species' slumber
But the power of our tears
Are strong when shared
And shower us with love
That runs through our blood
Moistening man
Soaking the sand
Once we see life grand

Snow is pure white and fresh like an angel's wings waiting in heaven.
I pull back the thick curtains and look out my window.
The snow is slowly falling like pieces of cotton from the sky.
It looks so soft and light that I want to reach out and touch it with my hand.
The moonlight catches each flake and makes it shine.
It looks so wonderfully peaceful outside that  I decide I must go.

I bundle up with my puffy down coat, hat, and black scarf.
I pull my boots on and open the door.
I walk into the bright moonlight and stare at the falling snow.
It is so beautiful this I know.
It is so bright outside because of the full moon overhead.

The snow falls upon my face and cleans away the dirtiness.
It melts as soon as it touches my skin.
Now my face is wet and my eyelashes hold the flakes as they fall down faster than before.
It is so quiet all around.
I can't hear a sound.
I feel happiness that only my heart can hold.
I love the snow!

There is no sound except for my boots walking upon the snow.
No cars, sirens, or people to be found.
The only light is from the bright moon that seems so near to me now.
It seems so peaceful outside that my worries and problems from the day,
They all fade away.

The snow is cold as it hits my cheeks again and again.
I love the clean, cold, crisp air,
I take a deep breath taking it in.
It is cold enough that it burns when it reaches my lungs and fills my nose.
I walk down the road for a while.
Not seeing a single soul.

I see a small dim light in the distance.
I wonder what it could be?
I haven't noticed it before?

The snow crunches loudly with each step I take.
The snowflakes are falling bigger, faster, and harder now.
It is almost too hard to keep my eyes open.
I squint so the hard pellets, which were once soft flakes a time ago don't sting my eyes.
I keep walking towards the light.

With each step I take my momentum slows,  
The howling wind blows the snow against my face so hard that I can't see a thing.
It stings, it bites, and the temperature is dropping now I do believe.
It has suddenly become bitterly cold,
I can see my breath, where I couldn't before.
I keep on walking, I don't know why?
But it feels like the light is pulling me in.

The light in the distance is getting brighter.
I am almost there.
I am very tired and sore all of a sudden.
How long have I been out here?
Should I stop and turn back or keep going in the whipping, blinding snow?
I stop in the middle of the road.
Which way should I go?

I could walk towards the light, or turn back and go into the darkness behind me now.
I choose to walk on, towards the bright light that gets brighter with each step I take.
The light is closer, no turning back.
I am intrigued and entranced by the light's warmth and its glow.
I slowly walk into the light and finally I feel safe at last.

I am warm and comforted by the yellow light that surrounds me on this dark, cold, snowy night.
It feels good to breathe air that doesn't burn icicles in my chest.
The light is too bright, and I close my eyes tight.
I am glad that I am no longer in the blinding snow.
Where am I?
I open my mouth to say, "Hello."
But no voice comes out, only silent hums from the lights all around.
Should I stay or turn and run?

I suddenly feel a panic inside, like I am somewhere I don't belong.
I walk back in the direction from which I came.
All I see is ambient yellow light around me.
The road is gone and all the white falling snow has vanished.
I want to be back home right now.

I turn to the yellow humming lights and find only more light ahead of me.
Will I ever return to all that I know?
Or is it all gone in this unknown world I walked into?
I turn and start to run.

I run as fast as I can, but I can't seem to get anywhere.
I feel as though I am standing still, but running in place.
I feel the wet tears welling up inside my eyes.
They fall down my cheeks, as I realize my own fate.
Where is all the blinding snow?

Running and running I am out of breath.
My lungs burn now from the lack of air, instead of freezing snow.
I close my eyes and make a wish.
I wish I hadn't walked into the white, peaceful snow.
Tears from my eyes fall so hard like hail stones in a summer thunderstorm.

I stop running and open my stinging red eyes.
It feels as though I have been crying for days.
I see a small glimpse of an angel's wing.
A soft white feather brushes against my face.
A wind picks up quickly and dries my tears.
The air begins to freeze again, and I gasp for air or maybe for my own words.
What is happening?
I feel weak and I give up the fight to continue.
Did I die in the blinding snow?
Is this the end of the road, or the end of my life as I know?

Suddenly, there is heat in my soft frozen cheeks, as though I have been thawing after a long hard winter's cold.
I open my eyes again, afraid to take a look around.
I wake to find it was all but a dream.
I think, or do I believe?
I am in my bed with the covers pulled up to my chin.
Breathing so hard and scared to speak.
I get up slowly from my snowy slumbering nightmare.

I walk to my window and pull back the heavy, thick curtains with shaking hands.
The snowflakes are quietly falling, perfectly from their winter clouds.
Soft and white like big cotton puffs.
I want to reach out and touch them with my hand.
I breathe a sigh of relief, and turn around to go.
I feel something wet and cold dripping down my face.
If it was a dream, then why is my hair wet from the melting snow?

You should be here
waiting for me in bed
when I get home, sir.
Just an idea.

Do you have any clue
how hard it is for me
to focus at work
with my ******* slick
from thoughts of you?

It's hard to act calm
and professional
when I'm thinking
of you entering me
from behind, pushing
into me as you pull
my hair and own me.

Nobody at work knows
that when I smile it's not
to be polite, but because
of the secret dirtiness
I keep covered inside
that none of them
would ever guess.

It's only because I am
thinking of you,
contemplating licking
those secret places
only I know of, that I can
make it through the day.

You should be here
waiting for me in bed
when I get home, sir.
Just an idea.

I am a sponge,
Absorbing everything.
And when I wring
Myself out,
All the dirtiness,
All the tears,
All the battery
Throughout the years
Will cascade down,
And there will be
Rainbows abound.

As I stood above the others, looking down upon their plea,
I felt the lies that shook from me and cried out blasphemy.

The strength that holds inside of me is not amongst my own,
The dirtiness that’s filled with me can’t find itself a home.

As I lay before the altar side, a knowing smile within,
The punishment they gave to me was only the first therein.

As I step outside the ashes, to send my challenge out,
I feel the chaos rising in and know there is some doubt.

A loss, a gain, the angst, the pain.
They all remain the same.

For I was not the one they hailed,
To lay beside the king.

As death decays my jaded soul I’d healed before I thought,
The agony I felt that day was something they had brought.

A gift they said, to scar and curse,
The words I made were in reverse.

Irreversible to those I know and those among I love
I realized then, what I must do and gave myself a shove.

For it was now my time to go,
To rise above it all.

And what I did could be so low,
So cursed and evil,
But I can see their wicked eyes,
And knew it was my call.

From broken to reaching for Revelations,
My chance to spread some angelic wings,

I was eroded by an ****** enlightenment,
With those who knew the limits of lust,
But not individuals of the evening,

Wishing to feel complete,
Once feeling the glory of a lover,
With tangled toes and tossed feet,
Sweat, moans, and humanly harmony,

Realizing the relationship was destined to be a Shakespearean tragedy,
I lost someone I still hold dear to me,
Because I couldn't live that life,
The liar dressed like a priest,

Erased by memories, moans of relief,
Please keep in mind baby,
No dirtiness for me,

I’ve been particular with those laid into the bed of this thief,
Where I can reap the natural fixes of her beauty,
Absent of love,
Away from everything,

With a life too short for worldly inflicted woes,
When your existence is timed by faith filled beliefs,
Making me work for the air I need,
For the breaking that I avoid,
With every breath I take,
I’ll prop you up with a pillow,

Life will break you at the jaw,
Before sucker punching you into the ground,
******, bruised, and still lacking a crown,
It will be tough but you can defy,
What we think is divine,

Tap into that humanity,
Pay homage to the genes that evolved till they could conceive,
Convince some Apes to use their knees
From paws to fists,
From animals to intellectual fruition,

You may not like what I have to say here, but I WILL AND CAN HOLD "ALL" OF YOU, even the ugliness, shame, dirtiness, anger, sorrow, etc. It is "my choice" to do this when you entrust me with your feelings, needs, thoughts, actions, scars, gasps for air a midst tears, shakes, etc. I will not hide it, burn it or destroy it, because this is included in all of you and I am in our world to help you love, accept, tolerate, redirect, all that you come to discover about you. You don't have to believe that you are strong right now....I know that you are. BE SICK OF IT ALL...BE ALL OF YOU and stop the secrets about 'this' because 'this' is you and every time you hide 'this' you hide yourself and you don't want this anymore. You know this, I know this, now let others know this. I want to hear all your rage and pain because I want to hear you. I will not run, I will not close my eyes or ears.

No…you will not ‘hold’ any part of it…because when I showed you the ugliness, the shame, the dirtiness, the sorrow…you did choose to close your eyes at the ugliness because you were afraid it would hurt you. That is why I keep THIS from everyone else in my life…I am stronger than them. I can handle THIS and have handled THIS for 30 years. I am stronger than you. You cannot handle THIS.

I do not want you to hold any part of me.

I do not want you to see or hear my feelings, needs, thoughts, actions, scars, shakes, or tears.

*I do not want you to hold any part of me.

I am a holder of dolls,
said Monica,
I keep them in my arms
in light and dark,
I sleep with one
in my bed at night,
her fuzzy hair
tickles my face,
my dreams are of
my mother's cries,
her anguish over
the men who come.

I am the bearer
of her smacks,
her voice vibrates
in my ears,
her hand marks
colour my skin.

My window looks out
on fish shop below,
the baker's shop
on the left,
on narrow
Meadow Row,
the bomb sites
on either side.

My mother's men
come and go,
they make her
laugh or cry,
they sleep beside her
in her double bed,
I hear their voices
in the dark,
the sounds of giggles
or weeping,
the slapping of hands
on flesh,
the darkness brings me
bogeymen and shadows.

One of the men,
crept to my bed,
removed my doll,
touched my leg,
lifted my nightdress,
our little secret
he whispered to me,
the darkness swallowed him
up, the dirtiness left
in his wake.

I am the sleeper
of light sleep,
I listen for the sound
of creeping feet,
for the door **** to move ,
for the door to open,
for the hands to touch,
for the secrets kept.

From my window I see
the children at play
on the grass below,
with toy guns,
bows and arrows,
dolls and prams,
they look for me
to join in,
to enter their games,
the boys seek me
as their cowgirl moll,
they ride their invisible
horses across the plains,
shooting out
their cowboy dreams.

I watch the sky darken,
the moon a silver coin,
the clouds
puffs of smoke,
my mother
calls me to meals,
the table and chairs,
old and stained,
her man friend
drinks and smokes,
makes silly remarks,
***** jokes,
me he pinches
(under the table)
or secretly pokes.

I am the holder of dolls,
they are my true companions,
they never complain,
they share my dreams,
they share my pains.

From my window
I see Benedict play,
he alone knows
of my plight,
he my knight
in cowboy shirt
and jeans,
my teller of tales,
my listener of woes,
he buys me
sweets or chips
after our games,
walks me home
with his 6 shooter gun
resting in the holster
by the side of his leg,
his cowboy hat
slanted to one side.

He keeps my secrets,
holds my hand
over busy roads,
eyes the men
my mother brings home,
guns them down
in our shared dreams.

I kiss his cheek
as a kind of thanks,
he blows me a kiss
from his open palm
as he rides
the bomb site plains,
he knows my fears
of the men
and my mother's smacks
and the pains,
he stares at my mother
with his hazel eyes,
his steady stare,
he alone likes me,
he alone is there.

What was it like that very first Christmas? Cold, dark, ***** and smelly, but through all of that, the shining light, the fire of the Holy Spirit and the one who would reach through our dirtiness and smelliness to cleanse the world was born. There was peace, there was joy, there was love and most of all there was hope. Shepherds came from the fields nearby who, upon seeing the star and hearing the heaven's proclaim the good news of great joy, came swiftly to pay homage to the baby king. Born so low so to connect with us and our humanity and in order that he might one day be raised so as to raise us up to more than we can be. The journey to Bethlehem was long and hard. Did you know, did you have any idea what was going to happen to your baby boy? All that he was to do and all that he had to suffer? All of this happened so quickly. There wasn't any time to process any of it. Thinking about t, I am so overwhelmed and I didn't even go through it. But you, a young simple girl, kept all these things and silently reflected on the in your heart. How often do we hear news of something good or bad and simply react without thinking? Or how many of us take the time after a retreat, after being on the mountaintop with God, take the time to keep all these wonderful powerful moments and reflect on them in order to bring them with us back to the valley of our everyday lives? How many of us take the time to reflect on what we learned and try to apply that to our lives and help us to mature and grow as your son did at the home in Nazareth in stature and favor with both God and man? Mary, mother of God, help us to imitate your example and pause for a few moments to take in all that is around us and reflect on these things in our hearts and in our lives. Be with us, pray for us, and hold us in your arms and close to you always. We love you Mary. Thank you for your "Yes" and your incredible faith. May we have the grace and strength and courage to do the same. We ask this and all things through Christ our Lord, AMEN.

My failures, they're numerous.
My sins, outrageous.
Even when I ran away,
To me, Your love still made its way.

To Your word, I turned a deaf ear.
In obeying Your commands, I peered.
You called me out to this mess I'm in.
I moved away and chose to follow sin.

You woke me up with a nudge.
Most of the time, I quickly make a dodge.
I kept ignoring all You say,
still You never stayed away.

You gently called my name.
Your love remained the same.
In my dirtiness and disobedience,
You gave me another second chance.

You erased my ever dying days.
I'm drowning in Your all-sufficient grace.
Even when I ran away,
With Your arms wide open,
You waited for me, embraced me,
and welcomed me again with no delay.

Where days go on and on, you feel the dirtiness reach into your eyes.

Some days are so *****, the gods and saints of London

lets the city rain **** for our punishment.

They watch laughing without any care

Cops rather chase the dope freaks,

instead of stopping the pill sellers right in every corner downtown.

cops who eat their **** for breakfast,

then go spouting it all over the innocent ones.

Jamaicans jamming the drums

i don’t know where to go?

Hamilton my old home,

still hasn’t wiped its *** in over fifty years.

but London here I come again,

another year with you.

I feel the dirt,
and it's not as easy as washing it off to get rid of it.
It's been piling for years
up, in, and around me.
It's in my nails,
and I feel it pumping in my blood.
But worst of all,
I hear it in love.
It makes my attention weary.
And as I'm in the midst of it's dirtiness,
all I can think of is how I can put more strength into asking God how do get rid of it..
'cause I can't stop it.
But I won't stop trying,
it's not worth another option.
I'm no super hero,
so who believes dirt doesn't shine ?
Because i can see,
That It's glaring in your eyes.
Memories don't live like people do.
So just like that,
the ocean lives in my living room.
I sure hope I can fall into it while I throw myself around.
.. At least to cool off.
And why deal with the problems,
when you could just deal with the symptoms right ?
Throw it to the back of my conscious for the time being ?
I hate having to do that.
I hate living with dirt.
It's like a secret, mostly.
We talk about it cautious.
I think of it, grossly.
Even though it hangs, closely.
When it is in mood,
you'll hear it.
Somewhat ghostly.
This has got me shaking my head a lot.
Crap out of luck.
Like some average Joe smuck.
Like I can buy it.
But I'm crap out of a buck.
Life is a storm,
It won't miss me if I duck.
It tempts my strength to soften over time;
i just won't have that on my watch.
Dirt belongs only in certain places,
on the footprints of your guilty traces & in the past of professional escapists.
Usually on the end of a pick.
Life is a garden I hope you can dig.

Joe Dirt said we just gotta keep on,
keepin' on.

I did it again, though I swore I never would, that the last time was the end
leaving me wondering at my own morals and the value of my word
and how much in life is built on "never again"?
The dirtiness, tangible and muddy,
the soil on my soul
Lord I swear, I just don't know how I allow
myself to be cajoled
but the breath on my neck and the honey on his lips
make me surrender it all, make me want to lost it all,
just to taste a bit,
so I take another hit,
and get home under the sheets and fill myself with why's,
not even truly sorry,
and craving the music in his sighs

I would like to think that we are the bridge from winter to spring.

I am 12:57pm, and you are the breeze kissing color into my cheeks. I love you the way the a flower blooms through all the white coldness surrounding it, the sun encouraging it's every small stretch.

I love you in the same sense as the new rains washing away the dirtiness of my hair and the muck in the streets: we are two parts of one whole, and yet you are still so foreign.

I know you love me by the way you kiss me in morse code. You leave your fingerprints on my hips: an invisible promise that I am yours.

Your name is tattooed on the tip of my tongue.

I wish us well.

When daddy was a dealer
And mommy was a dreamer
And life was always high
You couldn't catch us
Like a fever

But now I can see her-
Tears in her eyes
Momma took time off
Because she wanted to die

And the divorce came fast
But the pain came slow
When you're an adult in the body
Of a little snotty nosed

****
and
Smoke
I can see the scent
Of my ****** up childhood.
I guess you could call it descent.

Not growing up
But growing down
Into the sewers
Of my town

This dirtiness can never be washed

I have been shutting the memories out of my head all day. My mind wants to remember more. My mind wants to force all that bad ugliness In. "I cannot just sit and think about this now I'm working!" I tell my mind. It does not listen, It forces It's way in anyways. I cannot run from It, I cannot hide from It. And I cannot function without It spilling into my brain like poison. I can tell It to go away, or come again another day. But when I shut It out I feel worse, I hurt worse. And It does not stay away for long. It always creeps back in on me, leaving me with this black cloud of pain above my head hanging there for the world to see. I wish I could release all of this hurt that is on my heart, just let It all go with one single action. Be done and move on. But it is not that simple. I do not want to remember today. I want a break. I am playing a game of tug-a-war with my brain. It's pulling the rope tighter and harder on It's end, while I lose the battle due to my weakness and crash to the earth face first. I do not want to remember today. I do not want to cry. I refuse to close my eyes; I refuse to let It control me today. I just want a break.

Please go away bad things I beg of you now.
I wish to sleep but I don't know how

I don't like these memories, or these pictures that I see
I screamed and cried but no one ever came to save me

Please go away and don't bring any more pain
GO AWAY I feel like if you don't I will go insane

I don't want to feel, or remember his touch
Run away memories, I don't want to see you, it hurts too much

Please go away, you've shown me what I never wanted to see
Slip from my mind, vanish from my thoughts, please just let me be

I don't want to remember his smile, sweat or his smell
Or the way he made that tiny baby promise not to tell

Please go away bad memories, It pains me to breath
Everything hurts, I need time to grieve

I don't like the dirtiness and the way I've carried this shame
I've spent my whole life walking this earth thinking I was to blame

Please go away bad memories, I wish that you had never come
When you grace my presence you make me feel numb

I don't like to hear the voice In my head of that child begging him to stop
Or remember as he didn't listen, threw her down, and climbed on top

Please go away bad memories you make my body remember what it once forgot
I also remember dolls, jewelry, and toys he left, making him think forgiveness he'd bought

I do not wish to see any further or to remember the blood that ran down her skin
What that father did was wrong, sick, and disgusting, It was the ultimate sin

Please go away I hate everything I see in these horrible, hurtful things
I feel like a bird lying waiting to die with its broken tattered wings

I do not wish to know what was done, be a victim, or live any longer in this past
I ache, I hurt, I scream, I cry, I beg, I see, I remember how long will this last?

Please go away all sadness you've been here far, far too long
My heart is always aching and singing its sad, sad song

I don't like these bad dreams or this life living with these fears
My heart is heavy and my body is raw, I am blinded by my tears

Please go away bad things I beg of you now
*I wish to sleep but I don't know how

Listen as they howl
With the sirens
And at the sky

Screeching
Bleeding
Yearning
And burning
All for the blood red moon
Like a prayer to God
Like a cry for mama

Listen as they weep
And pine
And ache in relentless agony
All for hope
For some kind of sign
A chill in the night
Or a smile from a star

Watch as they turn themselves
Inside out
In grief and shame
Dirtiness so deep
Even their souls must be hosed down

Watch as they crumble
And become so small
That they are now the earth
A patch of dirt for us to walk over
And smush down with our feet
Like they were never there at all

The souls of the ******
The sleepless coyotes
And the hounds of hell
Wail for me
And beg to take me down
Past the river banks
And deeper than the sea
To a no man’s land
And the place which carries no name.

Cut deep
Trying to reach my soul
Trying to cut out the pain
   the hatred
   the disgust

Why can't I cut deep enough?
What the **** is wrong with this blade?
It won't reach far enough
   deep enough
All I see is blood
All I see is red

Cutting over scars
Creating new scars
But they won't touch the pain
All there is is a trickle of blood
   not my soul
   that has disappeared

What the hell?
Why can't I reach it?
Is it so lost, so far hidden in the dark recesses of my mind?
I want to destroy it
I want to gauge it out with the tip of my blade

I want it to die
For if it dies so does my pain
   my disgust
   my dirtiness
   the horror and pain and nightmares
   and me
If it dies so will I

I feel *****
Like the ***** you cannot shake or wash away
A ***** that smells but is only putrid to you
The disappointment, the despair
The dirtiness that you feel when you dripped gasoline on your hands
Where the fragrance never leaves and the memory hits you
A constant reminder of what you did
Like a stain that stares at you and reveals what was done
Where it bleeds through the many layers designed to conceal it but it wreaks.
And as I go through my day, I can't look my parents in the eye
I can't smile at them like the son they love
For the smell only embarrasses me more
"They didn't raise me to be this way"
And I stumble with words to form an excuse
Jumbled and fake I have no alibi
I am a convicted man and as the plan goes
My action only makes me lower my head in shame
I want to shove it under my bed, strangle it and let it die with time
But inside I know
Inside I feel
That this smell will be forever there
Another stench I must solemnly bare.

its weird. i never thought id miss it.

the feeling of your lips on mine, the feeling of skin against skin against the cold concrete floor

i never thought id miss the sound of your voice calling out to me or the way your eyes never failed to meet mine

id never thought id miss the dirtiness of it all, the hidden marks you left on my skin and the half turned smiles we shared

i knew i would think about our conversations late into the night, our shared geekiness for the same things

but i never thought id miss it.

best friends with benefits. it was only meant to be temporary but i wanted it to last forever. best friends with benefits. almost yours but not quite. best friends with benefits. i never knew where the benefits ended and where self indulgence began.

I wonder if you realize
The mark you left on me
When your hands were on my skin
And I couldn't even scream.
I wonder if you know
The trembling in my bones
When another touches me like you did,
No matter the intent shown.
Do you understand the panic
That races through my body,
The fear I know in every pore,
The feelings you've embodied?
Do you feel the anguish every time
I hear your name from a passerby?
The floodgates of despair and guilt,
Of disgust and dirtiness open wide.

Do you ever consider how I've been since then?

The hundreds spent on therapy,
Just to be unable to speak?
Two long years spent without a word,
Spent sad and lonely and broken and weak?
Nights spent lying in my bed
Trying to forget the terror of your touch,
How you ignored my every "no"
And my defiled brain became mush?
Forgetting would be a bliss,
Yet you continue to haunt me still
A ghost and horror of my past,
One which defied my every will.

THE SECRET RITUAL:
Irrespective of the wonderful *** you might have with others, or any ideals you may have about who, when, and where to engage sexually, sometimes the *** that you have with yourself gives you something impossible to achieve with another.

To be specific: what I’m speaking of are the internal mental constructs of performative ****** acts that are unrestricted in the imaginative world, and that one would never be able to consider in real time. Those masturbatory shadows of the deep and deeply ****** that few are able to acknowledge about themselves, and certainly remain unwilling to talk about with someone they maybe intimate with, for fear of its destructive impact on the relationship.

A shape of language
for the secrets of the body
for the secrets of the mind
in the flow of matter
physical and etheric
cyber chronicles of ambulated hunger
the cult of the body.

YOUR SEXULITY IS SACRED TO YOU, NOT SACRED FROM YOU:

Obviously moral sensibilities and the limits of temporal life dictate what we may do. We may be imaginative, bizarre, freaky and incredibly *****, but we are not crazy, at least not all of us, yet that doesn’t mean those shadowy ****** denizens of the deep don’t bathe in the great fathoms of our respective subconscious abyss.

My darkest desires
bloodletting streams
are a kind of ******
fetishy cognitive inventory
malformed denizens
of the subconscious.

THE PARAPHILIAS:
“Paraphilia is the experience of intense ****** arousal to atypical objects, situations, fantasies, behaviors, or individuals.”
Current data supports that about one out of every 6 people, irrespective of gender or ****** preference, experience some kind of paraphilia.
Here is a list of paraphilias that is a focus of ****** interest:

Andromimetophilia: Trans men.
Anililagnia: Attraction by young men to older women.
Anthropophagolagnia: ****** and then cannibalizing another person.

Anthropophagy: Ingesting human flesh.
Apotemnophilia: Being an amputee.
Asphyxiophilia: Being asphyxiated or strangled.
Attraction to disability: People with one or more physical disabilities.
Autagonistophilia: Being on stage or on camera.
Autassassinophilia: Being in life-threatening situations.
******* asphyxiation: Self-induced asphyxiation, sometimes to the point of near unconsciousness.
Autogynephilia: ****** arousal of a biological male in response to the image of himself as female.
Auto-haemofetishism: Bleeding oneself (does not involve ingestion of blood). Type of autovampirism. [contradictory]
Autonepiophilia: The image of one’s self in the form of an infant.
Autopedophilia: The image of one’s self in the form of a child.
Autoplushophilia: The image of one’s self in the form of a plush or anthropomorphized animal.
Autovampirism/Vampirism: The image of one’s self in the form of a vampire. Involves ingesting or seeing one’s own blood.
Autozoophilia: The image of one’s self in the form of an animal or anthropomorphized animal.
Biastophilia/Raptophilia: ****** a person, possibly consensual **** fantasy.
Capnolagnia: Smoking.
Chremastistophilia: Being robbed or held up.
Chronophilia: Partners of a widely differing chronological age.
*******: Feces; also known as ****, scatophilia or fecophilia.
Coulrophilia: Clowns, jesters, and mimes.
Crurophilia: Legs.
Dacryphilia: Tears or crying.
Diaper fetishism: Diapers; considerable overlap with paraphilic infantilism.
*******: Trees.
Emetophilia: *****.
Eproctophilia: Flatulence.
****** asphyxiation: Asphyxia of oneself or others.
Erotophonophilia: ******, often of strangers (also known as dacnolagnomania).
Exhibitionism: Exposing one’s genitals to unsuspecting and nonconsenting others.
Feederism: Eating, feeding, and weight gain.
Formicophilia: Being crawled on by insects.
Forniphilia: Turning a human being into a piece of furniture.
Frotteurism: Rubbing against a non-consenting person.
Gerontophilia: Elderly people.
Gynandromorphophilia, Gynemimetophilia: Transgender women.
Hematolagnia: Drinking or looking at blood.
Heterophilia: Idealization of heterosexuality and/or people who are “straight-acting”, especially by non-heterosexual people.
Hoplophilia: Firearms, guns.
Hybristophilia: Criminals, particularly those who committed cruel or outrageous crimes.
Infantophilia: ******* with a focus on children less than five years old; a recently suggested term that is not in general use.
Kleptophilia: Stealing; also known as kleptolagnia.
Klismaphilia: Enemas, arousal and enjoyment in receiving, administering, or both.
Lactophilia: Breast milk.
Liquidophilia: Immersing genitals in liquids.
Macrophilia: Giant beings; the imagined growth of beings.
Maschalagnia: Armpits.
Mazophilia: Female *******.
Masochism: Suffering or humiliation; being beaten, bound or otherwise abused.
Maiesiophilia: Pregnant women.
Mechanophilia: Cars or other machines; also “mechaphilia.”
Melolagnia: Music.
Menophilia: *******.
Metrophilia: Poetry.
Microphilia: Very small people or small body parts.
Morphophilia: Particular body shapes or sizes.
Mucophilia: Mucus.
Mysophilia: Dirtiness, soiled or decaying things.
Narratophilia: Obscene words.
Nasophilia: Noses.
Navel fetishism: Navel.
Necrophilia: Corpses.
Objectophilia: Specific inanimate objects.
Oculophilia: Eyes and activities directly relating to and/or involving the eyes. Voyeurism does not meet classification for this term.
Odaxelagnia: Biting or being bitten.
Olfactophilia: Smells and odors emanating from the body, especially the ****** areas (as from breath, *****, feces, flatulence, etc.).
*******: Arousal from having a full bladder and/or wetting oneself, or from seeing someone else experiencing a full bladder and/or wetting themself.
Paraphilic infantilism: Dressing or being treated like a baby, also known as autonepiophilia or “adult baby syndrome”; considerable overlap with diaper fetishism.
Partialism: Specific, non-genital body parts.
*******: Prepubescent children, also spelled paedophilia.
Peodeiktophilia: Exposing one’s *****.
Pedovestism: Dressing like a child.
Podophilia: Feet.
Pictophilia: ******* or ****** art, particularly pictures.
Piquerism: Piercing the flesh of another person, most commonly by stabbing or cutting the body with sharp objects.
Plushophilia: Stuffed toy animals (“plushies”).
Pygophilia: Buttocks.
Salirophilia: Soiling or dirtying others.
****** fetishism: Non-living objects.
****** sadism: Inflicting pain on others.
Shoe fetishism: Shoes, such as high heels.
Somnophilia: Sleeping or unconscious people.
Sophophilia: Learning.
Sthenolagnia: Muscles and displays of strength.
Stigmatophilia: Body piercings and tattoos.
Symphorophilia: Witnessing or staging disasters such as car accidents.

Telephone scatologia: Obscene phone calls, particularly to strangers; also known as telephonicophilia and scatophiliac.
Teratophilia: Deformed or monstrous people. The term is also sometimes used in a more literal sense (from ancient Greek τέρας, teras, meaning monster) for attraction to monstrous mythical and fictional creatures such as werewolves.
Toucherism: Touching an unsuspecting, non-consenting person with the hand.
Toxophilia: Archery.
Transvestic fetishism: Wearing clothes associated with the opposite ***; also known as transvestism.
Transvestophilia: A transvestic ****** partner.
Trichophilia: Hair.
Troilism: Observing one’s partner engaged in ****** activities with another person.
Urolagnia: Urination, particularly in public, on others, and/or being urinated on. Also referred to as “water sports”.
*******: The idea of one person or creature eating or being eaten by another; usually swallowed whole, in one piece; also known as vore.
Voyeurism: Watching others while naked or having ***, generally without their knowledge; also known as scopophilia or scoptophilia.
Wet and messy fetishism: Messy situations, including, but not limited to, being pied, slimed or covered in mud.
*******: Animals.
Zoosadism: Inflicting pain on animals, or seeing animals in pain.
~~~~~
A REAL-LIFE PROFILE OF A WOMAN ACUTELY AWARE OF HER DARK FETISHY SIDE
Primary Fantasy: Dehumanization, objectification. I love the idea of being kidnapped and converted into meat.
(Fantasy obviously!!)
I also enjoy preservation, taxidermy, dollification, weird stuff like that!
Other Fetish Interests:
Hucow
Medical
Lab scenes
Necro
Morgue
Hanging
Lethal injection

MAKE THE UNCONSCIOUS CONSCIOUS:
There is much written in-depth psychology about ****** pathologies caused by repressed or shadowy disowned parts of ourselves and how those neglected forces may determine unwanted fate. Shame and self-deception is not our friend. Know yourself.

Pleasure is so close to ruinous waste
nakedness wrecks decency
degradation feeds the bonfire of hunger
and the wound of desire bleeds away within

leave nothing
but the bleeding edge
ruin me she said.
~
Beyond hearts mastery
hullabaloo crime scenes
like night jungles
of tooth and claw
in corridors of neuron ghosts
while **** licking succubae
*** livid pornographic hieroglyphs
fed by the dreaded
excesses of testosterone
towards some ruined
blood spotted
hanky-panky *******
just to remind me of you
and how it hurt just so
and how you loved me for it
whoever you are.
....
https://medium.com/@4zebra2u/the-secret-***-life-we-keep-from-our-selves-7f227dbc6c4a