"headboard" poems
so i get this idea sometimes
that you enjoy being coy
when it comes to me
to conjure momentary spectacle
& make me wonder
if you paint catharsis
on the doors of a home
you've never lived in
as a memory of our first night together
because i do, i remember you
beaming white on blue
speaking softer than any storm
i ever knew, i often think that maybe
you live that night in your mind
when your pillow is cold
& you can't sleep, it makes me wonder
if you do as i do, and rewrite three years fictionally beginning with a kiss somewhere
maybe a balcony or a quiet car
on the sand or in a sunlit grove close to your home but always a familiar scar on the maps we know we know by heart
i wonder if sometimes
the idea of me loving you is too real
and if it teems under your tongue
to stay observant but distantly intrigued
if by this distance you think it safe
to get a dog and pass time
on the couch with a journal & some wine
what i really wanna know is if your fingernails ever wish to have my skin under them
or if they would boast
about winning a war with my headboard
i wonder if you can imagine me
meeting your parents in your apartment & shaking your fathers hand
as a first of many calloused palm readings
and if you know that i trembled before them
how insignificant i had felt
to not know their daughter
in the way i had envisioned
how i picture such poignant moments
so tangibly sharp that sometimes
i replace my memories with little stories
i tell myself that i can't count on two hands
the number of times i've seen you
& that i don't feel like a crater
when i recollect our collisions
i want to know if you still find madness
in the words that have always been about you
i wanna know if your imagination of me
looks more like an anniversary or an obituary
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
Devilish Grin
with a
Naughty smile
Dark hair
Blue eyes
spoiled-n-wild
Tats two
Black-n-blue
dark-n-tan
white stockings
Knee-high
high- heels
spread thighs
Deep breath
wide eyes
long strokes
deeper sighs
nail marks
blood red
already dried
move slow
Said wise
silent screams
already tried
hand cuffed
lips sealed
Hair tied
Legs wrapped
open wide
Firm grip
twitching hips
In joy
Toes curled
Slip-n-slide
smooth ride
deep ******
Headboard knocks
she replies
screaming
please
come inside
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 2:41 PM UTC
I search for some decor
to pretty up my house
A headboard, some dead boards
or maybe a couch?
The said so to do it
on public TV
my kitchens not pretty
as pretty as can be
But what will the neighbors
think of my design?
they'll report to the magazine
that it's beautiful and sublime!
Some ship lap, some sconces
all wrapped in a bow
i will trend till tomorrow
then die all alone
Rip it all down
Says Chip and Joanna
They are more popular
Than Hanna Montanna
They live on a ranch
an take millions to make
a spectacular suprise
for a couple to take
We all laugh an cheer
at Chip's child like antics
Which makes great TV
as Joanna gets Frantic!
Do Chip and Joanna really
care about you?
As long as the station
gets ten million views
They tell us to fix it
even though it's not broken
go shop till you drop
and spend every token
Buy that cool sign
made from cheap yellow plastic
The richer get richer
but, our wall looks fantastic!
Do not give in
to the big corporate greed
there are sick, hungry people
and starving mouths to feed
so every cent spent
on the corporate wealth
helps the richer get richer
and we go to stealth
Wake up and see vanity
is causing distress
don't give in to pressure
of this corporate mess!
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
I watch your skin stretch and retract,
Like a rubber band,
The tan color of your shell.
I can see the outline of your ribs,
As your arms reach up toward the headboard of the bed.
Your toes point,
Like a ballerina.
And after twisting your body to each side,
You drape your soft skinned arm over my pale waist,
Pulling me in.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
a storyteller's perspective, steppin' off the ordinary edge, into the unknown
An unsent letter lay on the rustic log cabin floor
A cold wind musta’ blown through the cracks the light comes in,
where it laid fallen, half *** crumbled, yet never a wadded ball;
never an unspoken thrown paper stone, a befallen regret was all.
Silently atilt and leaning against the canted wall's slant
behind the gathered dust a squeaky hinged burl wood door
A timeworn tarnished copper wind up clock roosted,
an old lip smirched coffee cup time stood still;
an empty bottle of gin sat near the bed post headboard
where the ink stains and blotted spillings let the memories in.
Stained pages torn and bent like fallen paper wings
returned to the unread sender … postage due, south a heaven sent ―
A sullied envelope, gnawed and mouse chewed,
for a nest of new beginnings ―
just read: Lydia ... ♡
... followed by a scribbled empty heart
The time aged brown tattered tablet paper left behind
stifled like the unread heart it holds upon the threadbare pages
of smudged tear’s ache and spilled gin
The weathered rock hearth fireplace filled with spent ashes,
hand rolled cigarette butts, traces of an aching lament;
scratched up old vinyl records lay ***** and tired out,
from a time of sweeter fallen fences, a musical bliss, and
a lost angel's abandoned red slinky party dress,
aside a busted off black velvet high-heel stuck sullied
in a hollow knothole in the ancient barn-wood floor
a sparkly pearl pink jewel entangled in a spider web
An unsent letter lay on the rustic cabin floor
A cold wind musta’ blown through the cracks the light gets in
The final unread words silently said:
*"We lost our way,
it all went wrong,
it all turned bad"
..."This is the outcome when someone you love
up and throws you away"
...“I’ll reach out from the inside
I’ll rise up again and do without”
..."You went out into the world
with an untamed hankerin’ ―
like a carefree restless gypsy breeze
and come back worlds apart"*
The Unsent Letter,
just whispered words to the dust in the wind
in quivering ink:
...*"how can I ever unremember you...?
a thrown stone sinks wordlessly as a rock...,
an old wood bucket with a rotten hole the heart,
fallen forgotten, rock bottom as an empty well"*
just signed: ... ❤ August
January 1st, 2017 ... august ... wild is the wind ♡
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 12:20 PM UTC
punk music playing in the basement
heavy bass vibrating the walls
bacardi in a coffee mug
******* on a tiny mirror
hands on my thighs, *******
the rush sets
hands in my hair
eyes rolling back
he ***** on my neck
i light a cigarette
"my room."
he pulls my strings like
a marionette.
i know this
exchange of goods
very well.
i take another
bump,
eyes widening,
i can finally bear to
see the world.
he eats my ***** and
i feel N O T H I N G.
i gag on his **** and cry.
he strangles me
punches my ****
my *** cheeks
my stomach
he's getting his money's worth
he starts ******* me
drunken noise outside the bedroom door
in perfect rhythm
with the bass
and the headboard
against the wall,
every stroke hurts
my whole body
a wound.
i think about
a distant city
skyscrapers towering
above me like
mountaintops,
somewhere under
lights and stars
where i am happy
to be alive,
anywhere
but here,
this place
where death lives
and waits to catch
it's prey.
he moans
thrusts
shivers
it's over
i wipe mascara tears
take another bump
take another swig
i light another cigarette
he leaves the room
without a word
i follow
two steps behind him
covered in bruises
hickies
marked used
marked invaluable
a group of men
shout names at me
i block it out,
i really don't care
anymore.
this body
was meant for this
this body
doesnt matter
this body
is for getting what
i want
this body
is tired
and sore.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
Settle into darkness, naturally, and take your cue from unoiled gears jolting forward only to lure you into false stability and lose velocity, stop suddenly, merge the definitions of stopping and falling by balancing the cart on the back of the tongue as sherbet dip dab’s your gums in 3…2…swallow down it drops FLASH past the oesophagus there’s your photo op show us some teeth show us some skin darlin’ begin to dissolve in stomach acid bile’s vile hold it down we will use force if necessary like handcuffs to a headboard excuse me sir may I see your ticket? Right you can’t sit here, you’re 3,4-methylenedioxymethamphphetamine, that’s upstairs you need to swing a left then straight up to the top floor not a bad view, you can’t miss it it’s got a hundred golden bulbs flashing hypothalamus, no we’re not really bothered about our environment take the lift elevate heart rate
C-C-C-CRANK IT UP
to the cerebral cortex’s House of Mirrors home of distortion. What can we do for you sir? We like to pride ourselves in our ability to mess around with the wiring and stimulate receptors, all part of the Deluxe Mega Deal complete with moving walls, disco ball skin and a talking butterfly the size of a car crash for a limited time only whilst serotonin stocks last they fall as fast as the lubricated log flume SPLASH. Please remain seated until the end of the ride. Thrown out into the gift shop. £30 for a 12 hour come down. Come again soon.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
My eyes begged you,
Forgive me,
I know not with whom I speak,
you are but a mirage to me,
an oasis only existing
in the realm of my twisted mind.
My hands pleaded you,
come and love me,
show me what you have inside
that golden box,
you keep hidden behind
the headboard.
A light faded and
flickered
in the house across the street.
Up on the hill,
branches swayed peacefully
with the wind.
I succumbed
to your darkness.
A path which winds
through desert sands
is no path at all,
but a choice made each moment
with each aching footstep,
the song of a stream
in the distance,
was only a breeze
passing through the air.
The shadow of the man
that had appeared before
was no longer there.
Mar 25, 2022
Mar 25, 2022 at 5:10 AM UTC
Chest to chest,
Sweat on sweat.
Moans loud and sloppy,
Faces wrinkled in pure ecstacy.
"Gerard" Frank moaned,
And didn't hide his pleasure.
He dug his nails into Gerards bare hips,
Definately leaving a mark.
**** some more" Gerard groaned, and thrusted harder.
The headboard smashing against the wall,
And the neighbours shouting.
"I'm almost there" Frank yelled,
And pulled Gerard hard.
A few moments,
And Gerard was done.
Gerard rolled off of Frank,
Without a care in the world.
"I'm going to work" Gerard said,
And pulled on his clothes.
"B-but, you don't have to be in for an hour.."
Gerard grabbed Frank harshly by the hair,
And pinned him down.
He smirked down at the younger man,
And harder in love Frank fell.
"But you're my ****
And you know you love it."
Frank thought for a second,
And well,
**** it.
"I'm a bad little boy,
With no heart left,
Or soul.
Just ruin me Gee,
Take my body through hell."
Frank bit his bottom lip,
And looked at Gerard.
He was smirking,
And blushing hard.
"Yeah,
You're right little boy.
Now get on your knee's,
And at least have a try."
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
It just hung there, rusted shut
Black as coal
Cold
Vibrations
Feeling's
That was not meant to be. I seized
My limbs frozen as if blocked upon
There reach.
Inscriptions placed in tongue
Of old.
"signati inter stratis universi"
I took my camera
Photos where as if nothing seen
Static,
White,
Blank
Visions of a black that cant be disguised around
Blossom of pink delectably spread around.
But beauty often hides the thorns,
That which is perpetual
That which seeps unto this world
Old,
Malevolent,
Malignant
Darkness that is like a whisper
Permeating into this world.
It is a gate,
A portal to a place that light does
Not enter or exit from this place.
The gate to......
I walk away as if hurried from this moment,
Ushered with a momentary....
"Where the hell am I"
**"I cant ****** remember the last few days"**
"I sense a smell of blossom"
I fell heavy as they tell me
"It's temporary"
I had hit my head some place,
I'll get my memories back.
I open my back gate and my hand retreats
As if knowing of danger,
But I once again reach,
"Nothing"
My head aches,
As I sleep I dream of pink blossom
I see the gate...
They find me three days later
Fear distorted upon my features,
Scared to death, died in my sleep, finger frozen
Out of reach,Scratched into my headboard
"The gate is open"
"The blossom has fallen"
"The gate, the gate the ga............"
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
Paralyze
Crippled youth decadent edification
Parental units fornicate prior to infantile animation
***** and left at the scene
Premature aged tragedy
Perceptive to the lessons of life
Based on adolescent obsessive observations
Thighs binding in the district of oral cavities
Physique constricted to paroxysms
Epileptic ear-piercing *******
Quivering leg hypothesis
Scream my name
Mechanical erotica
Spasm surrounding bionic limbs
Shrouded desires and ***** hallucination
High-quality with your skull banging into the headboard
Schoolgirl fantasy finished in chrome
Silver stream lined destruction
Nitro *** drive
Touch me
**** me
Use me
Blow me
I hate myself for this
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 10:04 AM UTC
I
am
******
and not in a clawing flesh, body convulsing, banging headboard kind of way
that kind of ****** I can rock the **** out of.
No
I am more the
twisted mess of forced misconception
enlightened by time innocence forgot
forced into a life guided by trust in the lies truth told
Yeah,
it's the end of life as I know it
that's the kind of ****** I am
I knew joy
it was based on trust in what was true
I knew love
it was built on that same foundation
So yes,
I am ******
this mess of **** crumbling to pebbles while blinding me in the dust of my own ignorance
is anything but blissful
and all I hear are the cries of beautiful dying
not that dying is beautiful, though it can be
but of the death of beautiful things
of things I found implicitly lovely
the painful dying of all I believed was good
I am so ****** sideways
protected by others
I can no longer say for certain who I am
or who I believe myself to be
****** hard and unrecognizable
***** into truth by the kindness of others
No more questions because I am ****** that way too
no one wants to hear their old news and ***** laundry
I knew love once
now all I love, I question
reliving my choices in reasons why
trying to piece together my life had I always known
trying to define how I love by my own definitions
and not by what I knew love to be
because that love never existed
only in my ****** shattered memory
So, hey
guess what
I used to love you
now it's tainted with yesterday's **** streaks
I'm still me
But boy
am I ******
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 8:50 PM UTC
Eternity - like the curves of the springs in the mattress
Working together being compressed only to expand
Your breath quickens
I pound relentlessly
With only one goal, writhing ****** in thought, body, soul.
As the orchestra of sound
comes together
mattress - eee errr, eee errr, eee errr
Headboard to wall,
Wet smacking of my pelvis
to your swollen lips
Grunting, moaning, all increasing in tempo and crescendo
Oh God Yes!
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 8:37 AM UTC
~
*abruptly waking to discover
the sempiternal daylight of herself
in a small silent village in Brussels
the sky's a cloudless blue
and she needs the sun
like children need two parents
sunglasses conceal bedroom eyes
smiles hide like inverted *******
clothed in peekaboo milieu
a highly individual creature
in an era of the exaggerated curve
she's an amnesiac
doodle-dawdling in the altogether
wrapping herself around
mise-en-scène
it's breakfast with Mr. Svengali
then unacquainted foothills
and undergrowth
in the flaring of conjugal
light and shadow
hum
thrum
'n strum
she's got the whole wide world
in her hands
her simple slantwise silhouette
declivitous neck
inclining embonpoint
summoning him
no clock, no watch
the keeping of time
is served by rapping
her crown upon the headboard
at regular intervals
her open-tempered sighs
closing with the heaviness
of a sleepy hush
until the echoing of church bells
announce the footfalls
of tomorrow-come-looking*
~
Aug 26, 2021
Aug 26, 2021 at 3:02 PM UTC
Whining about slushie stains, broken shoe strings, a cloudy tan date, a blender of crushed molding fruit and a couple of misplaced coupons dusty under the bookcase
I listen, I stay. I know I know-so awful, so unfair
Tuesday the tongue red Toms squished into the slip n' slide of a slow-paced coat on the run, splashing in the surprise and disgust but mostly drowning in the wrong point
I listen, I stay. I know I know-so foul, so raw
The pipes ooze liquid, weeping for a fix but the handyman's calloused fingertips were fired for not fitting the bill, mending the rip or driving the speed limit
I listen, I stay. I know I know-so frustrating, so disappointing
Saturday's overlap into Sunday was cramming lyrics and auto corrected notes into the bloated edge of a clicking lens snapping away, capturing a frenzy of wild memories and ibuprofen pills
I listen, I stay. I know I know- so entertaining, so amusing
Begging for top shelf truth, knee stretching for flexibility, pen scratching for a road deeper inland, holding, yearning for a meaningful entry to meaningfully look back on
I listen, I stay. I know I know- so vanished, so fragmented
Each night, the muffled light bulb all tucked into bed shamelessly stares crooked at the nightmares of an exhausted headboard wishing only to shed comfort instead of light
I listen, I stay. I know I know- so sorry, so sorry, so sorry I can't be more for you
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 7:32 PM UTC
Welcome to the ten step guide on how to fool everyone into thinking you're okay
Step One: Smile. Smile your biggest brightest smile to ward off the people who don't know you well enough to realize that it's fake, let your pearly whites be the shield you hide behind so your secret stays a secret
Step Two: Even if the clouds have opened and poured down all the tears you're holding in dress up in your nicest dress so you get more compliments on how pretty you look than questions about how puffy your eyes are
Step Three: When confronted; say I'm just tired, push the fib through your teeth and hope your nose doesn't grow to the size of your lie and make sure you maintain eye contact so they don't catch onto how nervous you are that they might find out
Step Four: Cover up the jawbreakers decorating your skin by wearing a long sleeve shirt even though it's summertime
Step Five: Break out your inner actress, especially when he's around because while he's using your headboard as a punching bag he'll expect you to like it
Step Six: Every time you wanna say hate replace it with love...I love feeling helpless every day, I love being your human doll, I love being camouflaged with purples blacks and greens...I love you...
Step Seven: Fasten your dog collar onto the next notch because he wants you to remember how his hand feels around your throat, he wants you to remember what being scared feels like, he wants you to realize he owns you
Step Eight: Think about what you can do to make things better because as he tells you it's all your fault and he only hits you because he loves you and you're lucky that a guy like him sticks around with a girl like you because you're worthless and you believe it
Step Nine: Let it all out, scream into your pillow and shower off every fibre of him like it's a poison setting into your skin and then cry yourself to sleep to prepare for
Step Ten: Repeat
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
I want to feel your fingers slip up my vest, feel your hot breath dancing down my chest.
I want my pillow embedded with memories of you that put fantasies and dreams to shame. I want scents, moans, tastes engrained.
I want my naked skin weaved around yours, I want to leave claw marks along your spine as you beg for more, smash your palms into our headboard.
I want to feel your legs shake, as I start an earth quake inside of you, that'll leave you quivering for days.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
I'm going to love you like the floorboards do. I'm going to touch you like your bedroom walls never could; lay your forehead against me like the shower wall and try to recount every lie you ever told laying down. Your nails will hold me against the headboard in a dark act of crucifixion; I have been dying of your sins since before I understood that they were not the kinds that I should love, and perhaps this is not the kind of love that ends well on glossy pages but it is the only love I know. I was a nearly dead stray on your doorstep and you fed me pretty words from your hands like you knew how to take care of things that had no home (despite having never had one of your own). You know too well how your name sounds when your hand is on my knee, you know too well how your name sounds when you are coaxing the life out of me, as though my trachea were the back door of your apartment, and you know how deadly you are with a look on your face that burns like the candles in a chapel but never melts - I sit vigil over your dead body but your ghost is always touching me, you are always bringing out the worst in me and stretching it out like sheets over a ****** mattress and I cannot take care of myself and I am incapable of breathing until you are watching me.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
As your hand grips the headboard
and mine grasps the wrinkled sheets
I wonder what this is
One night stands are supposed to be straight-forward
We are not in a relationship
But if I spent all year trying to get you
And all night having you
What do I do in the morning, when I have simply had you
I no longer know how to speak with you
I know there were no strings attached
How do I casually let you know it would be fine if you ever wanted to do it again?
I promise not to get emotionally attached
We never have to be sober around each other
We can take shots in your bed again
I just wanna watch you take your bow-tie off again, I could help
Something about you makes me want more
I promise it's not emotional
I can **** without it meaning anything just like you do
It can be purely physical
I almost wish one of us had left after
You asked me if you could stay, but it was your bed anyway
I asked you if I could stay, but you never answered
You should have answered, you should have told me to get out
Who the hell cuddles after a one night stand?
I barely know you, but you read my body like braille
Whispering drunken secrets after
You don't get to teach me how to shift from screams to whispers so effortlessly and decide you only want it once
Just one more time before you leave
I swear I won't get emotionally attached
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
I would have loved to have kissed you through
your polo shirt, to have felt your leather chest
on the palms of my hand, get my tongue caught
in the feeling of yours. I bet you would have held
my face, one of those guys, who cradles cheekbones
like pottery. I imagined us, feet tangling in sheets
as we wrestle each other in a small bed
pinning arms against the headboard, pulling ribs
closer to the other so they can connect
in their respective grooves. I would have loved
to have played catch with your smile, circle
your eyes with my own, nibble your shoulder
as we collide. I would have loved to,
but I'm still being haunted by ghosts in good underwear
who gave me more than just a body
for a month or two. By boys who swore
that the time wasn't right now, but it was coming
as fast as it could. I've been sliced open
by flea market promise rings with crooked diamonds,
and I would have loved to have used
you to stitch me back together. But you
are just a boy with your parents wallet,
sweetness baked into tight khaki's
and some really cool vans. You are not
the remedy I attempt to find in Bacardi bottles
or a blank document or even cups of tea.
You are too good for this part of me.
I'm sorry for teasing you with my jeans
and the bit of skin I let peak between
my belt and the rest of my blouse.
Imagine what that would have felt like
on your belly while the November breeze
crept through your open window?
I would have loved to.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
fingers fluent in language spoken in hushed tones
bodies illuminated by electric currents
convergence
hands that glide across the surface
leaving no inch untouched
hungry for lunch
heat rising from the sheet
blood pulsing to the beat of the
headboard
banging and begging for mercy
from the beginning to end
feet twisting
heels digging
at the addiction
sparks ignite fire from friction
burning through exposed skin like newspaper
devouring each other
connection made slick like butter
arousing the fuse by
lighting matches in the dark
triggering
an explosion.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 8:23 AM UTC
I have on a pearl necklace, the beads like cabbage
stonewashed by sun
and sitting upon this veranda I
watch wind feather a hilltop where your sister
lost her virginity to a man while she was but a girl –
the sort that marries nothing besides memories.
She would wear what I do if I remember correctly.
Your sister had taped posters on her wall
of which she would stay up late to kiss goodnight –
I heard their rustle
through the plaster, through your hair covering my
neck when you hid me next door
pouring my secretions onto your mattress.
Somehow, she was younger and older than you:
chopsticks in her whiskers twice your age
**** a scalp whose hardly brushed one’s headboard.
You and I, on hiatus
and she and I were always clean –
skimming our knees together while you had another
girl in the shower-stall, who cried when
she ate a sandwich
or abbreviated the name I wished never would end.
In the valley, the willows cut a dress your sister would
wear with my pearl necklace, and
I think I will marry my memories, too, if not you.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
I want to feel
your soft lips pressed tightly
against my kiss
making their way across my cheek,
i want to feel,
you whisper in my ears
i want you
as our desires
admit defeat.
I want to feel
your fingers slowly make their way
down my neck,
and slide up my vest
i want to feel
your hot breath
dancing its way
across every inch
of my chest.
i want to feel
our bodies collide
as you make soft music
out of mine.
i want to feel you
draw pictures
out of the claw marks
along my spine.
I want to feel
your tongue
make its down my stomach
and between my thighs
i want to feel
your fingers slip
gently
inside.
I want to feel
you slowly
take your tongue and
those hungry red lips
cradling, caressing,
tasting, savouring
between my
pleading hips,
I want to feel
my palms smashing
into our
headboard
as I beg you,
again and again
please baby,
just once
more.
I want to feel
my legs shake,
as you create an
earth quake inside
of me
that'll leave me quivering
for days.
I want our pillows
embedded and engrained
scents, tastes
memories
that put our wildest
fantasies and dreams
to shame.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
It can break apart families,
Condemn you to hell,
Ruin your relationship
If you don't do it well
It can be seen as an evil
Or seen as a blessing
Depending on the situation at hand
The time could be pressing
It's a contact so strong
I have been told
It mends two minds
It bonds two souls
People obsess over it
Spend days, hours, minutes, thinking
They fantasize about it
The sheets a mess and the headboard clinking
But I don't see why I need it
When I don't need the result
This over sexualization is a movement
And I don't want to join the cult
It's not something I want
Not now, but maybe some day
Some time when I'm ready
For what could relay
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
I sometimes think it could be ADD
this thing I really know is pestering poetry
it has me by the throat; it has me by the brain
now it has me in my gut, I'll never be the same
it comes when I least expect
it comes when I really don't want it
when I'm trying to do what I do for pay
it comes along brash and undaunted
I try not to do it, truly I do
but it just spills out like an overfilled gutter
"Stop" I tell her "leave me alone.
I don't want to do this" I sputter.
she's always there, that impudent muse
teasing and taunting my head
I can't get her out, I can't shut her up
even at night when I crawl into bed
she sits on the headboard and waits
for her chance to burst into a dream
then shaking me, waking me
in the wee hours she acts out her scheme
she won't take no for an answer
"I'm sleepy" just will not do
it doesn't matter if it's three AM
or if it's barely half past two
she refuses to let me just lie there
"*Don't be lazy! Get up and write it;
you know how forgetful you are.
Wake up and don't try to fight it.*"
There she is, that cruel taskmaster
looking down at me with a smirk
"*You'll do as I say. I won't tell you again,
Now stop whining and get to work."*
she insists that I follow her orders
battering my mind till it's lame
*"You may only write junk; you may only
write garbage, but you'll write it just the same!"*
I clench my teeth; I ball my fists
I'll show who's the stubborn one
I'll show her who's boss
before this (oh, drat, a poem) is done!
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC