"inwardly" poems
Sorrow filled heart
permeates throughout
a broken soul.
The body reflects
inwardly out
all the pain felt.
Solace sought
but not found
furthering their agony.
Too sad to live
too broken to move
they lie there
numb.
Struggling
barely getting by
yet somehow
finds the strength
to carry on.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
Hopelessness is the worst feeling of all
Hope must be the very scaffolding upon which we build ourselves
Because the moment hope dissipates the moment it begins to wear and give way
We collapse within forgetting any light that ever previously illuminated the circumstance
When you demolish a building, you don't have to destroy every piece but merely compromise its infrastructure
The same goes for destroying a person, or even a group of people. You don't have to destroy them as a whole but simply destroy their hope and watch as they collapse inwardly
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
The Royal lady's eyes behold.
The scene that is about to unfold.
The procession just outside Hawa Mahal.
She looks from one of he 953 windows.
The red and pink sand stone of the Mahal,
She feels from her toes.
She is Rajput by heart.
And inwardly thanks Maharaja Sawai Pratap Singh for this intricate piece of Art.
Constructed in 1799.
From it's windown,
The breeze flows;fresh and beingh.
Out there there are all kinds of people
Old. Young. Fancy. Simple.
They radiate happiness.
Mounted on elephants or barefoot,feeling blessed.
She smiles to herself.
And closes the Jharokha and feels excited as now,
To her friends,she has a story to tell.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Will you love me if I said
I have AHDH
(attention deficit hyperactivity disorder)
That I will jump before you speak
Will be impatient to get my way
I can love u and hate you at the same time
I will nod, but not understand.
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have BPD
(Borderline Personality Disorder)
That I will be so drawn to you
That I'll throw myself at you
That more often than ever
I will question you if you me love too
Then I'll doubt you if you do
I'll accuse you of using me
Then I'll offer myself to be used
I will shunt between 2 shades
There is no grey for me
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have Bipolar (Disorder)
That my mood swings like a pendulum
That I will drive you mad
Or make you sad
Or I'll laugh till I drop
That you will never understand
Who I am today
Dealing with my situation
Will depress you.
I can literally **** your life out too.
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have NPD
(Narcissistic Personality Disorder)
That I will always think of me
That my dreams and aspirations will be so big
I wont have time for empathy
That I left my childhood behind
So don't bug me with sensitivity
I am afraid of your committment
Cause no one can hold me still
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I am terminally ill
That my pain is unbearable
My hope has dimmed out too
And I can see no end to my misery
But even though my life's a thread
I really want to have a full life again
I want to be able to trade my pain
If someone would only be game.
But I know it is not possible
Hence I ask for what is
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
You see this world's bursting with people who ache!
You and I have the difference to make.
It is so easy to empathize
With someone who pain is visible in daylight
But spare a thought for those who ache inwardly
Trapped in a battle with their minds eccentricity!
If your courage be so strong
That pain not withstanding you choose to bond
Live that life that gives glory
Share that love, that speaks a story
Love ceaselessly, love like it truly is!
Love above humans no one can
Cause loving like HIM,
Needs a supreme hand!
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to get hit by a Mercedes.
I want to get run over by a Porsche.
Something big.
I want to get smeared against the pavement
by a Cadillac Escalade.
I want to get hit by one of those big ********
who drag gasoline across the continent,
but I want the driver to be a manic psychopath.
I want him to stalk me on the sidewalk
and then run me over slowly.
He's not any coward, not like those bald patriarchal
Corvette drivers in polo shirts tucked into khakis.
No, he's a great fat man, a hairy beast with
a crooked stare that slows the pulse on impact.
I want the police to cringe or get scared interrogating him,
and haul his truck somewhere to be inspected.
I want the price of gas in nearby areas to go up
by at least fifteen cents for two weeks.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to roll over the windshield,
and drag under the bottom for about ten yards.
I want to separate at the middle and leave organs on his
left side view mirror and hanging on his hood ornament.
I want to seep blood deep into his car,
and when he turns on his heat,
he'll smell my blood full blast in his face
burning.
I want to wreck the car inside and out.
I want to get hit by a car with a McCain sticker on the bumper.
I don't want to get hit by some middle class Ford or Honda,
or someone's shit-level Chevy or beat up jalopy.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want the driver to make his tires scream like banshees,
and leave four long streaks of rotten burned rubber on the asphalt.
I want him to step out in business attire, and gasp, inwardly.
I want to flip off the sky, because my aim is bad,
and call him a coward for hitting the brakes.
I want him to think,
"What did I do?
Is he Okay?
What am I going to do?
What if I lose my license?
How will I get to work?
How will I pay for this.
Does my insurance cover
vehicular manslaughter?
I'm not alone right?
I'll get through this.
I'll survive.
I'll just be another statistic.
That's all."
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
[Dedicated to Austin Osman Spare]
Have pity ! show no pity !
Those eyes that send such shivers
Into my brain and spine : oh let them
Flame like the ancient city
Swallowed up by the sulphurous rivers
When men let angels fret them !
Yea ! let the south wind blow,
And the Turkish banner advance,
And the word go out : No quarter !
But I shall hod thee -so !
While the boys and maidens dance
About the shambles of slaughter !
I know thee who thou art,
The inmost fiend that curlest
Thy vampire tounge about
Earth's corybantic heart,
Hell's warrior that whirlest
The darts of horror and doubt !
Thou knowest me who I am
The inmost soul and saviour
Of man ; what hieroglyph
Of the dragon and the lamb
Shall thou and I engrave here
On Time's inscandescable cliff ?
Look ! in the plished granite,
Black as thy cartouche is with sins,
I read the searing sentence
That blasts the eyes that scan it :
**** and SET be TWINS."
A fico for repentance !
Ay ! O Son of my mother
That snarled and clawed in her womb
As now we rave in our rapture,
I know thee, I love thee, brother !
Incestuous males that consumes
The light and the life that we capture.
Starve thou the soul of the world,
Brother, as I the body !
Shall we not glut our lust
On these wretches whom Fate hath hurled
To a hell of jesus and shoddy,
Dung and ethics and dust ?
Thou as I art Fate.
Coe then, conquer and kiss me !
Come ! what hinders? Believe me :
This is the thought we await.
The mark is fair ; can you miss me ?
See, how subtly I writhe !
Strange runes and unknown sigils
I trace in the trance that thrills us.
Death ! how lithe, how blithe
Are these male incestuous vigils !
Ah ! this is the spasm that kills us !
Wherefore I solemnly affirm
This twofold Oneness at the term.
Asar on Asi did beget
Horus twin brother unto Set.
Now Set and Horus kiss, to call
The Soul of the Unnatural
Forth from the dusk ; then nature slain
Lets the Beyond be born again.
This weird is of the tongue of Khem,
The Conjuration used of them.
Whoso shall speak it, let him die,
His bowels rotting inwardly,
Save he uncover and caress
The God that lighteth his liesse.
6k
I panicked.
My brain attacked today.
It attacked my lungs,
Stupid sharp whistling sounds.
I looked out of control.
But I felt aware,
that I wasn’t breathing,
that I was attacking myself again.
It attacked my heart,
terrifying skipping stones in my chest.
Whipped one by one,
Muffled blows in my breast.
I panicked.
I looked out of control but I was aware,
of the guilt,
of what will drag along with me.
I can’t be freed from fault,
It’s not the way.
Because I panic;
is why I don’t relate,
is how I cleanse.
Fright being necessary,
like a dream
where you muscle tone fails you,
I was paralyzed.
My knuckles hit the laminate –
again, again, again.
But I don’t move.
Feeling my bicep twitch,
Feeling my throat raw,
My mouth wide open,
But I don’t make a sound.
Because I panic.
The power inside,
will never translate,
to the outside.
People may see flickers,
of insanity in my eyes.
They may see me tighten up.
They may seem me strain and ease.
But I will never translate.
Until it snaps,
Until I no longer attack myself.
Until I no longer panic.
Until I bellow,
Until I howl,
Until I wail,
Until I swing and connect.
Until it attacks outwardly,
Instead of inwardly.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
when you hear my words
when you decipher their intention
i wonder what tools you use
i wonder what you will make of me
i hope your eyes see through the same lens
i hope your soul breeds like mine
that my intentions would scare you
that my intentions, in that way, hurt me
worried that my expression are never really mine
worried that once outwardly deciphered they become inwardly lost
though our language is the same our definitions never are
though my hopes remain the same your intentions never change
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 3:01 AM UTC
An animal shriek
in the snowiest silence
is swallowed by eyes deep and brown,
not like mine.
Which're shallow and icy and
clouded with Sundays
shrugged off of shoulders
from peak down to plain.
These mornings are silent,
constructed from cinder blocks;
skeletal, rusting--yet inwardly
wailing.
Why in the world can't I set those shouts free
when the achiest Mondays release
all their caltrops
and I stagger through work weeks
on sore, shredded feet?
It's because of the way
that your shrieks echo off
of my wrought iron eyelids
when frost fills your veins.
It's because of the way
that I melt every Thursday
and wash down the side
of the night in cold sheets.
I can't shout out loud
and I can't melt the quiet
that screams from the mountains
to snow on the prairie below.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
The question regarding the question relies on what the question really is.
If the question implied is a question directed outwardly, then it may be misinterpreted as a question to oneself internally.
Otherwise, a question explicitly directed inwardly is critical to deciphering the question that one will address outwardly.
If an indirect question is questioned through the user, then the question itself becomes a metaphysical question to choose from.
In the event a question is said through alternate means, consider the quantitative/qualitative state of the question at the time being; as it may be resolved by asking the question in a subconscious level indeed.
Superficial means tends to seek fundamental questions to the reality of the state one naturally possesses.
In the case where the unconscious decides the opportune event to question the conscious reality, one must interpret the means in examination of the intrapersonal mentality.
If the question is imposed through correlative thought and subliminal expression, then the question itself is related to a parallel conscious state intertwined with the unconscious state of mind of progression.
If the question is relative in combination to the solutions mentioned above becoming apparent, then one has means to ask the question without questioning the question itself in disparate.
Otherwise, the question continues to perplex the question through the continuation of irrelevant questions that one will have thought; creating a treacherous belief so concurrent one could not have fought.
Therefore, is the reality of the question portrayed to the reality you live in or the reality of others? As this poem was conclusive to subtly evoke thought in the questions we construct.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
You'll never believe this
but,
I drank from God's flask the other day.
Yeah,
Convinced that it was half full
Of conscientiousness.
Of hope, or passion, or honesty,
or somethingworthgivingashitabout.
For it had once appeared to many,
A beautiful and grand canteen,
Forged of liquid silver.
And as I allowed the contents to inwardly surge,
I realized that it had plunged into the same carnal vessel
From whence it came,
And the lining of my body had been holding the ancient linings of other bodies,
Reincarnate.
Romantic,
If that's the way you wanna slice it.
But
There is a recipe for such rapture,
And it's been written on pages much less holy than the Bible--
On the coffee stained clipboards of chemists
And the meticulous manuscripts of mathematicians.
It's made out of the same **** that everything else is made of:
Out of the same force that makes you float when you sit in the dead sea,
Out of your body's sweat after a hard day's work,
Out of the blood in your veins.
Salt.
All of it, everything, everyone,
Salt.
Dissolved, crystallized, harvested, ingested,
Redissolved, recrystallized, and the cycle repeated.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 11:31 AM UTC
I thought you'd left us, long ago
desolate on a swing
rocking stale, dry grass and still air
crossing
never quite the hurdle
lost
unaware
sweating youth in this humidity
I thought we'd never make it past the
rusty red and brown of weathered fences
like
felt moun
They
tains
Made of dirt
(guilt)
and an endless turmoiling scent, still fresh
I thought you'd forlorned us
h e a v y r a i n and warm bodies
standing next to oxidized hoops
one adjacent to the other
The haze of the heat hard, but not impossible
to withstand swaying like the gust of wind, swaying
the blazing sun and my open palms swaying
Why was it here that it felt like you left us
stumped,
unaware,
consuming with no
idea of the Greater
2.
W H A T was it about inner cities
And skin that would tan
Or resist the sun
that made you mutter murky words
judgement
that made me hike a
K
A
E
P
that for so long made feel like a (lost) traveler
unable to come find my way D O W N.
Still on a mountain top
Never quite crossing the hurdle.
That’s how you wanted me
A
B
A
N
D O N E D.
3.
But my tongue made sounds
copper pots and plastic measuring cups
became the pious accompaniment
of a song sung inwardly
until it manifested
Words on lips
Lips willing to kiss the purple clouds made out of strange fruit and a high border walls over my hand and back
4. A Swimsuit and a pool that could cool
me
small children see the cicatrixes
But I walk towards the water; I have long abandoned shame.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
Doubt
So easy to say.
So hard to get past.
I've always had a little bit of it reflected inwardly because I've never been able to attain the appearance I wanted. I've never been quite thin enough. My hair has never been quite long enough. My skin never quite clear enough. And because of this its caused me to doubt other areas. If I can't get in peak physical shape, what makes me think I can become financially independent? Get a good job? Start my own business? If I can't control something as simple as a complexion, hair follicle or calorie, how do I think I can take on the outside world?
It's the doubt that eats you.
It's the doubt that tucks you into your grave with the could haves because you cancelled yourself out.
You're problem is not in your thighs or uneven eyebrows. Your problem is you think they're your problem.
Stop taking yourself out.
You are worthy.
You are so. worth. loving.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
From the very first
she gently lifts him
pushes him to breathe
and so the learning starts
He is so clumsy
as she teaches him to swim
she laughs a gentle mother’s laugh
if inwardly
No arms to discipline or hug
yet what a heart to give
to her one small and only son
just twelve feet long at birth
One distant day he’ll near her length
at forty-five or so
and shall remain
the most important thing
to her
upon this Earth
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
The distance ever so touchable
Yet you're still far afield
The glimmering glitter in your blissful
Translucent almond irises
Waiting to deviate from them
Yet they have imprinted themselves
Now affiliated with my heart
Seeing your lips brimming brightly
Rejuvenating your flawless visage
Embodying my love
Not even half your beauty
Inwardly made you mine
Realistically destined for another
Drastic jaundiced waves
Crashing the shores of heartbreak
Sentiments
Thus the eminent work of
Patience
Silence
Benevolence
Enshrouds my blooming admiration
For you
Unfastening my feigned ethos
For you
I comprehend the significance of dignity and family
But my love
Ceaseless and eternal
But my love
Yours only
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
It makes me feel so alive
As i watch it bleed
It makes me feel so alive
Its such a sudden need
The pain is like a rush
If you saw me
You would definitely blush
Because this is not who im supposed to be
But im afraid
Its who i am
The price must be paid
So that i can stand
Stand myself
Without this knife
I would crumble
And i would end my life
So i continue to cut my skin
I dont care if its a sin
Its what must be done
If im to continue to see the sun
Everyone needs something
To cope with pain
This is what i need
For there to be any gain
I love the blood
I love feeling it flood
Down my leg
Im not going to beg
For help
So inwardly i yelp
In pain
And i watch the rain
Of red
That will scare me skin
And i want it to end
But i cant stop
Its out of my control
I have no soul
Im just a robot
Who must bleed
I have to feed
On this bright red sin
So i cut again and again
But there has to be more
Christ has settled my score
I wont give up
I wont stay stuck
I will keep moving
I will let go of this knife
I wont let it rule my life
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
At an airport garden in Hong Kong
I sit and refresh my traveling spirit
amidst an effusion of lucky bamboo
Crepe white and fuchsia orchids
coyly fan their geisha faces
The Morning Sun, at first a pale opal ember
climbing over slumbering, stone-washed
mountains
Roars into brilliance
like a golden Peacock Dragon
strutting through China blue skies
I smile inwardly....
let the moment sweep me off my feet
Breathe in......
colors, sights, sounds
gifts....fullness
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
The limping man
entered a world of difference and prejudice
carried by civilization.
Sorrows beyond our
understanding celebrated the right to be alone
in wasted conformity.
He is ashamed
inwardly of transcending fear making persistence
step into impulse.
His cure hooked
the tyranny of repeatedly abused witnesses with
harassing all freedoms.
Injustice regained its
function by stretching a new idea of
the conscious enemy.
-s.r.b.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
The rooster swivels on its axis returning
coarse wind into the pyre of mad, mad tongues
raving alongside charred ivory. Lifted by sorry hands
from dying embers’ embrace and eased with foreign pity,
ceremoniously, into a cardboard crate wheeled against
the traffic, stumbling backwards through yellow canvases,
between my family dressed in black, to dress the void (deck),
mourners spitting soda into their cups, as word paddle upstream,
onto a thin futon within four walls stained with unfinished ghosts.
The doctor removes the white shroud like God coaxing pink light
on the first day and wine oozes through elastic veins to the far corners of my skin thin ventricular walls. One crack, in the doors and in my chest, paramedics in white blur in, heel first,
Pan-island couriers on reverse gear to the corner
of a numbered street, where I am delivered like a gladiator
thrown into the arena of nosy gazes, with the urgency of
hens clucking away from premeditated slaughter:
deep Christmas red on the tessellated parking lot.
Clumsy thumbs dialing 599, I moan inwardly
to the concentric circles of strangers retreating, erasing
me from cell-phone cameras. Then like a flip animation I
snap backwards, up 21 floors,
pause for about an hour on the ledge before smashing
backwards, back down, past kids scratching graffiti off the cement
and growing cigarettes in their mouths. The rain ascends and I take
wet cash from the driver while I fidget on the leather and throw up
mediocre coffee into my cup. I dig into my throat and return the bread
to its plastic bag and when the cab stops I fall left out onto another parking lot,
moonwalk up the stairs to where I unwrite my name in the
annals of failure and
shove the Fs of my past back
then
I take the bus instead.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
Tingly under the daisies;
Glassy-eyed, glazed, greasy;
Shaking, shivering, shuddering,
Wishing, wandering, whimpering,
Westernizing—
Romanizing—
Constitutionalizing—
Institutionalizing—
Perpetually searching
And dying
And living,
Watching Death survive
And scythe the frolickers,
The prancers,
The rompers,
The merrymakers.
A rose clamped between his
Grinning teeth glistens brightly,
And he dances so joyously.
“Yes!” say the naysayers,
Confused are the soothsayers,
Lost are the cartographers.
Oh, Utopia!
The monks are extravagant;
The meditations are a farce!
The preachers are beggars
And swindlers and chargers,
And Machiavelli fulfills his wishes!
Babies are stillborn, stabbed, and
Ritualistically sacrificed,
And their blood is spilled, drunk,
Slathered over the ***** man.
The evangelists scream and lie:
“You are all predestined to die!”
Oh, hail Utopia!
Wedded are the girls to the girls;
Wedded are the boys to the boys;
Wedded is Death to Death,
Life to Life,
And Life to Death.
Wedded are the living to the existent.
And the milking babes are slaughtered
Ceremoniously,
Surreptitiously,
Ostentatiously.
Oh, hail great Utopia!
We are all dead and unintelligent:
Laugh, laugh, Einstein, at your
Stupidity.
Laugh, laugh, Temple Grandin at
Your retardation.
Laugh, laugh, laugh!
Look at the sluggard, thou ant;
Look at the boy, sobbing wolf;
Aesop was drunk,
Aristotle was delusional,
Michelangelo was blind,
Beethoven could hear,
Poe was sane.
And I can't read.
They ramble,
I watch.
They sleep,
I watch.
They dream,
I watch.
They sleep-talk,
I watch.
They scream,
I watch.
They choke,
I watch.
They suffocate,
I watch.
Stone-faced, I stare;
Raspingly, I breathe;
Uncontrollably, I twitch;
Inwardly, I rage.
I hope you die, I hope you die.
I hope you bleed, I hope you die.
I want you begging and crying,
I want you blubbering at my feet,
I want you gnashing at my ankles,
I want you writhing in pain,
I want your arm twisted off,
Cracking with the snapping sinews, I want your beating heart in my hands, I want your genitals uprooted and stuffed in your throat, I want your stomach so I can eat the still-digesting food, I want your shrunken head and I want to force my thumbs into your unblinking eyes and I want to tear your face in two and I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
Sitting alone in my bed,
Anxiously yearning the touch of something different.
Contemplating about differences,
Visualizing the new experiences,
Mesmerizing about different beauties,
Fantasizing the new opportunities,
About women of different cultures,
Ethnicity and upbringing.
Pay no mind to the language barrier,
As our body speak that universal language,
We can have intellectual conversations,
We can have passionate interactions.
Lets's ponder with deep imagination,
As we diversify this love, ignore it's discrepancies,
So girls of all colors come closer and get drawn like crayola,
As we paint this picture to see what we can make of this blend of colors.
Envision this:
Background music effectively babysitting my thoughts as I listen,
Laying under the moon,
With that special person.
Inwardly rehearsing,
Every move to make,
Opportunities to take,
Intaking the passion from the air she breathes out,
Creating chemistry not even Einstein could figure out.
This love should be an equal opportunity,
You plus me that's all that should matter.
So would you explore your heart?
Release the stereotypes that keep you in the dark?
As darkness falls,
Our temperatures rise.
A reflection of moonlight shimmers in those eyes.
They tell me your secrets;
I tell you no lies.
What lies beneath your skin will be ugliness' demise.
Ironic, in the dark you see me for who I truly am.
And I tell you who you truly are.
So far. So good.
So deep, it goes beneath your beauty,
It goes beyond whatever society will tell you not to do with me.
Tonight your biases shall not rule thee,
For I am king of this pride.
Swallow your pride and swallow my pride.
Release the wait of inhibition and take this ride.
Our inner flames fueled by passion shall light our way.
They say, we are blind but it is only in darkness that we truly see.
Give up shallow emotions, let your heart be free.
Immerse yourself in this reality:
My love is river, all else is only skin deep.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 7:11 AM UTC
This Tamarind tree
with a thick thatched roof of leaves
spread to all the sides
like matted dreadlocks
of a sage
in silent, inwardly turned contemplation,
for long long years
has such cool, comfortable shade,
that is--
lovely rendezvous
to the love smitten,
to bill and coo for hours,
transit home for nomads
who own nothing more than their backpacks
and looking for a shade,
playground for children
in the neighborhood,
with curious eyes,
resting place for laborers
tired from toiling, in the sun all day long.
pen for itinerant goats,
that playfully fight with each other,
kennel for stray pups
finding companionship
all by themselves,
hive for honey bees
that hum tunes for all these refugees,
venue for a cocophonous
congregation of birds of different feathers,
obviously very political,
probably arguing about the future
plans when such a kind tree no more
would be there, soon
when the road gets broadened.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
You run your fingers up my thigh
I sigh at the delicate touch and
Inwardly shudder at my multiplying
feelings, I try to say stop but
the cry dies on my lips
this I want
My body belies my shyness
My body electrifies my senses
no shame is felt as those fingers explore
the stimuli they bring, crash into me
like waves upon the shore.
Higher and deeper, they amplify
the lullaby that in my head sings my
shyness away and magnifies my delight.
Detoxified, I soar like a dragonfly
mystified at the brazen me
lying spent in the moonlight.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC