I am a controlling boyfriend.
No, I am not a male, nor do I have a girlfriend to abuse. But I am the crazy stalker controlling boyfriend.
I've been noticing a trend, one I touched on the other day in a status. I am free with my boy -- make out at Rocky, browse activities at play parties -- but am extremely jealous and possessive of my girls, when I have one. Or even in my present case of not having one (waiting on someone to make up her mind, or wrap her head around the poly issue), I still don't want her seeing anyone else in the meantime. :harrumph:
People new to poly often question "how do you handle the jealousy??" It's funny, I don't get jealous when I have both partners in my bed, or in my arms. I get jealous when outsiders are flirtatious or showing interest. It's also funny, I get more upset when people flirt with my boy not knowing he's with me than when they are aware of our situation. I don't get it either; just a quirk of mine. I have gotten very ****** at random guys in the club ogling my girlfriend, even though they had no idea she was my girlfriend, and probably would've ogled more if they knew we were together.
Perhaps my nonchalance with my boy is merely grown out of our time together. It's been six and a half years, and no one has managed to break us up -- though some have tried. But out of all that we've become stronger together.
Maybe it's the fear in me, that finding a third partner is so difficult to begin with. Believe me, a patient person I am not. And for a unicorn, there's a far higher risk that someone else will charm her away from me/us.
And it's not limited to the present, either. I had this same issue well over a year ago with another girl. Of course, J was a selfish and inconsiderate person who would make plans with her friends (acceptable), but not bother to tell us until she was dressed to go out (unacceptable). When did you plan on telling us?? K may be the most considerate person I've ever met, so that's not her way at all.
But my realization that I've had these feelings of jealousy and possessiveness before filled me with such self-disgust; I've become my own controlling high school boyfriend, who once told me, and I quote: "I like when you wear pants [over skirts] because when you wear pants, at least you can tell you have no ***." 1. I'd like to see you tell me I have no *** now. ;) 2. ***??
I'm also uncertain if the possessive feelings would be made better or worse as I grow as a dominant. K is the first girl I've ever considered taking on as a sub in addition to as a partner, though she's not aware that's been on my mind. That was not part of the conversation at all yet, I could just see her fitting very nicely on my knee. ;) Even if we weren't to add her to our relationship, were I to ever see anyone else topping her at a party, I would be livid. And if she were to become my girlfriend and my submissive, you bet your sweet *** everyone would be asking my permission before playing at any functions.
Obviously I have some things to work on.
Firstly, finding our unicorn.

Sue Venir loved Hugh Biquitous, but he was unreliable, so she confided this to her friend, Di Namic who confirmed he’d been seen with Penny Farthing and Miss Chevous. Then she ran into Ken Tucky, who’d just broken up with Jen Erator, and was known to hang with Mel N. Choly. Together, they and Dan Ube went to a party thrown by Perry Winkle at the house of Dana Point.

Con Valescence introduced Sue to Marine Layer who asked Mr. Tucky to join the conversation, and they’ve been conversing ever since. Lou Kemia couldn’t make the party as he was ill. This was confirmed by Nick Knack who’d been informed by Conrad Alert.

Penny Saver left early, heading over to the home of I. Stan Bul, who was throwing a celebration in honor of Hazel Nuts and Grant N. Aid, who were to be married by Will Power, though Miss Givings, his former girlfriend, did not approve. Celebrants included Buzz Saw, Ma Larkey, Ben E. Diction, ***** Pack and of course Ann I. Versary, who deemed it worthy of being remembered. Tom Foolery was always good for a laugh, which was appreciated by Art I. Face, Dee Vice and Tess Osterone.

Some chose to dine alfresco, notably Flora Fauna, Heidi **, and Ed U. Cate. Barb Ituate was a downer, though Ma Larkey tried to cheer her up, watched by Cliff Hanger who wanted to see what happened, until a dispute arose between Ana Conda and Ann Ticipation, who’d both been vying for the attention of Billy Goat.

Meanwhile, in another part of town, Terry Dactyl was in a dispute with Billy Club over Lilly White because of something Miss Conception had reported after hearing from that duo, Caesar Salad and Reuben Sandwich.

Junior Mints tried to mollify the situation with sugary statements, but was interrupted by Yuri Nal, who said he had to go, and then left with Jay Walking and they were off to congregate with Diane Tomeetya.

At the next table General Jive held court in a warlike mood,  that Cary Cature tried to lighten.  With them were Tex Arcana, whose accent was amusing to Bill Collector, Al Gorythm, Tim Buktu and Marv E. Lous, who always had a great time wherever he went.

By then, Bobby Pin, the luscious seamstress, had given up on Peter D. Out, after seeing him clowning around with Butch Wax and Slim N. None, all of them malcontents and disrupters.

In walked Daisy Chain, newly arrived  from the Southern Hemisphere, along with Sydney Australia. Klaus Trophobic had initially agreed to travel with the two of them, but said he had to stay at home. Frank O’Phile overhead this and confided to Phil O’Sophically that there is sometimes merit to such position.

The restaurant was owned by Ty ****, managed by Chuck Wagon, with the food delivered by waiters Clay *** and Terry Aki , assisted by busboyTara Misou.

The next morning, everyone gathered at the home of Dawn Patrol, who was there with her new husband, Earnest Money, after divorcing Perry Mutual. Deb Enture was her maid of honor.  Nick O’Time was nearly late to the party, driving in with Stu Debaker, via a shaky Uber driver named Manuel Shifting.

Al Acrity was his usual sunny self, but not when Den O’Thieves interrupted his conversation, which was shut down by Kay O.

Sherman Oaks and Van Nuys were late, having gotten mixed up on the location. Cliff Hanger was worried about the falling stock market, and as a result was getting drunk with Jack Daniels. Stan Dup was his usually assertive self, but was overshadowed by the always munificent Cy Pres.

Claude Hopper was dressed in yesterdays’ styles, but that didn’t matter to Dov Tail who  was going into business with Matt Chabox, known for his incendiary personality. They had two other partners to round the group out, **** Ular and Ben E. Fit.

Gar Gantuan loomed large, and was unstable when paired with Mo Mentum, who said in such situations, they needed to involve Otto Matic.

Terry Cloth was wrapped around Jan U. Ary, ogled by Barbie Queue and Coleman Lantern.

"We'll see."
(Thirty-two team,
two kyoo-bee,

a full-starting
O-, and only
two-guys on D.)

Mixed-media,
played-with, in poetry.
War, on, inside-me.

Implying-unstable, infer-me,
infirm the insane,
afraid,
and a stain,
and-to-blame.
And,

for shame,
part of race, don't,
myself, run-in.
Tryna buy-my-lunch. (&)
*******'s brought a gun-in.
Element'ry school, and all you wonder's where the fun's went. (&)
"Probably in another-empty-bag of
eaten-Funyuns." (&)
Probably, blue-blew fireworks, with fingers-off...
stumped-him. (&)

"Stomped'em."

Wonder, beauty, why you cryin'?
"Wonder,
if you'd drive?"
Bought-in, you did! To
all-I've-said, ugly and
alive-eyed.

"Wouldn't cough too much,
with tube-in!
You're mouth-dry."
Hampton-Beach-power-plant-hug,
July Five. CJD makes-me.
A bad brine, mine.
Another-youngest,
"Brother has died,
blind."

North Hampton,
on the way to
Hamherst-dam.
"Tryin'-man!
Love, the fam.
Will it be too late t'jam?

If I leave, you, now, from where I am?"
I leave now, from where I am. So,
[Leave now!
From: where I am!]

Leave now, "from where?"
(I'm already there.
Or did we come
the other way?)
"I'm getting there,
****."

I.

Am.

Despite the **** blizzard.
Why am I afraid to say
"it?"
Like:
"it" isn't.
I'm a Wizard.
Are we set,
now?
On-a-plan?
I'm a lizard,
tail-dropped.

Basilisk-Kenevel,
walking water-cans.
Bet you coulda. Know I woulda.
Puddle-crossed,
"Bye," I ran.
Ogled-over noodles,
with the
"wrong-sauce-
Dan-Dan."
I'm always glad to read you.
Wrote to your-self, I am

THE man, I am
THAT guy! I'm not?
"You are."
Just-High.
I fry.
These-frilly vegetarian-victims.
I ripped flesh from bone, before my dogs,
had to sic 'em.

Oh--
if you don't like the channels you can clickclick-click 'em.
If I'm showing off my *****! "Better go-head."
Lick'em.
See? Hawk-my-****, and
Stickemmmmmmmmmm.

Didn't happen to 'bic' him."
D'you know
how to pick 'em?
Cuz I take hit, like you
take-a-****:
Ummmmmmmm
...
well.

And, I turn-it.
All-around.
And I make you
****-yourself.
*******-on my
"all-that,"
it comes, with.
Now, Fall! Back!

Cell-tough, in round-III, so
convert, or burn-winnin'. "Comfy-
When-sinnin'." In-system,
Preferably would, and should-be:
Bobs. Newhart and Lee and "the
Third. " "Cornball." Griffin.
Racist, your second-choice, whiffin'.
K-battin', ten,

outta-tin.
Hear it in the heat, soul-hissin',
lion-sun, bathing,
and she-glisten.
Cast me, to an
island away,
swears-by-we,
"Listen."

"More pills, son?"
Try'na name
your brand,
Of volley-*****.
Wilson,

Rus-sell

"I call them the
'defensive-stars,'"
And this-league: ***.
***. Arr.
Ain't-no-side-

hus-tle.

I stood there patiently,  
To see the idol in red
Along with me waited a thousand
Until their feet bled…
Wishes and dreams they never have an end,
To get one granted I waited there myself.

Folks from everywhere came to see,
The deity, that blesses selflessly.
Adults, children, infants and old
Delayed my visit to the divine soul.

Among this crowd, a voice I heard.
Sweet and melodious like the cuckoo bird.
I tried to get a glimpse, of that sound
When what I saw got me astound.

An angel in pink, with eyes so brown.
Hair like midnight and face serene
Giggling and laughing she stood with her mom,
Playing with her shadow, she moved round and round.

Her innocence so delicate, just like snow.
Her smile, so cheerful she would make a dreamboat.
Anyone who seemed erupt and raged,
Would get a glance and feel calm like a sage.
.
Like the scales of a rattle snake we lined.
Slowly yet steadily towards the sacred shrine
Long and restless, like the wind we moved.
The doll came closer to where I stood.

Infants were crying and the old got tired.
Mothers were trying their best to keep calm
We were in a temple, I wondered why the alarm?
Men perspired and their phones kept ringing
Impatient they became as the wind stopped ruffling.

All this happened around that princess
She was still calm and smiling instead.
She looked around to see other kids cry
Then she saw me and waved hi.

I wanted to carry her; that little child
Her face was imprinted on my mind,
I was sure she would be lighter than air,
I admired her for the way she stared.


Wonder if she knew where she was,
Wonder where she got her patience from
Wonder when my time would come
When suddenly I realized the temple bells rung.

The queue moved faster as people barged in
The crowd got disorganized and broke the line
I pushed too and stood on my toes
With my hands joined, and my neck stretched
I tried hard to see; the divinity.

Just then next to me I felt
Something; a gentle touch I guess
I turned to see who it was
To my enchantment, there she was…

That darling stood just beside me
Carried by her mother facing the lord.
I forgot for that moment where I was
For next to me was the angel from above.

Her sparkling brown eyes kept me stunned
Her exquisite smile, oh lord I wish I was a guy!
He face so beautifully crafted not a single flaw…
She was best work of the heavens that I ever saw.

I touched her tiny hands so pink.
She smiled; I tried to get her to speak
Just when, her mother turned to me and said
“My baby; she is unsounded from birth.”

Startled I stared at that mother’s face
I could see droplets flood her almond eyes
“I heard her voice so sweet just now” (I mumbled)
“She only, just makes noise” (and passed by…)
I leered again at that child
Wondered; how could the lord be so unkind…?

Just then it struck me why I was there
I ogled again at the idol in red
With so many questions that ran in my head.
I realized then my wish was lame.
I shut my eyes and prayed with faith,

“Dear lord; take away this cruel bane
And give her a life that she would want to live,
again… and again… “

Half-sane near the Seine
with my Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum
who lifted her skirts
to give the lie to the Oriental Lie,
I thought it apposite that an insane
clochard stood a speaker's distance
and masticated franc notes like portions
of ****** "pain" while he ogled
the impenetrable ideogram of
The Beast With Two Backs penetrating

A hapless Lit student named Brandon,
Was researching Death of a Salesman;
He Googled then ogled
What Hap Loman called Strudel,
Then choked on his oral exam.

I gazed at her skin, fried and sprayed orange like the flames
That swallowed her soul, dragged her down to hell with ‘em…
Let her burn.

Staring at her sparkly stripper shoes, I wondered how she could sleep at night.
Well, she probably wasn’t alone.

Her hair, so harsh, bleached blonde beyond compare,
Frail, fraudulent, wannabe beauty
Like her shallow, gimmicky, stage get-up for the guys,
Giving the goods in mass quantity, like a buffet.
How cheap could she be?

I ogled her body, ***** that resembled balloons.
Psh.  More like implants.
Honey, you’re not fooling anyone.

Her makeup, tacky and overdone.
It could never be plastered over her tattered self-worth.

I glared at her clothes, or lack thereof, itsy-bitsy and a poor excuse
For a cover-up, of any kind,
Physical or emotional.
Leave something to the imagination, would ya?

Some girls, how pathetic they are.
I’m better.  I have morals.
Even if I don’t abide by them…
Even if I despise the creature I’ve transformed to…….

I gaped at the reflection, in the million-watt mirror lit aglow…
Who could this be?  It never could be me.
Staring between false eyelashes, she was easy to see.
A party girl.  A ***.
No, no!  
It’s not me…

It started well, so cleanly
Soaked in Lush stuff she soothed the aches
Whilst wife was meanwhile cooking a treat
Cider soaked pork and apples
The taste was tremendous
Precedent set for the night ahead

Feeling cool as ganstas we bopped and grinded
To hip-hop only Jurassic 5 could please me with
We were few female amongst a crowd of masculinity
And we relished the imbalance
Flirting my way to the front of the bar
I reignited my relationship with the favourite Jaegar-Bomb
And there dust settled upon the cleanliness

Things turned hazy but in a good way
Post gig we flooded onto the streets of Brixton
And drank the finest foreign beers from an overflowing alehouse
The company was our long-missed men-friends
And yet we still meeting more
As we shared the ingredients to ***** our lungs
They asked for 50 shades of grey in return for rizla
So I rose to the challenge in my half-cut state

This time is was always my intention to wash the weekend down wildly
And starting Thursday this premature session could progress to only place
…the Queens Head
Where dust turned to grime as snapshots of evidence
Prove it was on the credit card that those Jaegar-Bombs were paid
Time and time again
We had become team-mates and it was time I fed them
So we muddled back to my place
Trumpeting our voices through the building
As I served slow roasted pork from glasses
Apparently felt good choice
But next day our melted fingerprints disagree
Our heads also disagree with the antics
And it takes two rounds of tablets to numb the pain

Before later forcing recovery as in Shoreditch we start again
Gathered at Bettys we watched music played
Our rumps rested on armchairs upon the pavement
We continued drinking until the early hours of the day
Then searched for somewhere to take us on the dance floor longer
After only brief grimes of movement and Jaegar
Our night ended abruptly to our dismay
Instead had my first take of kebab
And went north where *** took the night away

Once again woke next morn in bed with man-friend
No memory but surely not in a **** way
Now the skies ******* a mocking mirror of our livers
It seemed a sign to sink further
And the finest ****** Mary led the way
And together sat on sofas we philosophised subjects that we deemed great
Then we ogled sparkly get ups
With prices that we couldn’t afford to pay
So went south to join more friends whose film we met to celebrate

The beginning of the end of madness
Needed cocktails-all we could tolerate
We had formed a tribe of friendship
And we hunted somewhere to prolong the rave
By now all sense of cleanliness long-time washed away
So a downstairs dive provided venue fit for our friendships to extenuate

Then outside met a generous stranger
Who offered tastings that lead our minds astray
Our insides dirtied beyond belief
But sprits high so when we stumbled upon a private party
We were welcome guests to join their birthday

What happened next I needn’t say
For inevitably it had become Sunday
So ***** now we were beyond grey
In wife’s bed I lay
Whilst my insides showed their dismay

This would take some cleaning

They say a mirror breaks
Into a thousand pieces
When it is hit by
By anything that contains
The force to shatter it
And crack the glass,that
Might have been immaculate,
Or might have been *****,
With layers of filth-
There might have been a
Lady,who looked at the
Mirror and ogled at her
Perfect complexion and
Candy apple red lips,
Or there might have been
A teenage girl who
Looked at it,only to
Check if the acne’s gone,
There might have been a
Child who smiled at the
Mirror, to get that same
Sheepish grin in return
There might have been people,
So many people,
Who looked in the mirror,
Some to forget,and
Some to remember,
Some to dream big, and
Some to hide a guilt-
But now, all of it
Lies shattered in bits,
In shards that dig deep
In the skins of humans,
And sardonic blood
Flows warm against their skins-
All the faces are now nothing,
But sharp,evil shards.

This purple silk is the colour of love, but a symbol of love I am not.
It is not love they see as I stroll along the street,
My waist cinched and gilded with poor man’s gold
(God forbid a woman should have anything to herself).
They think the shadows of their top hats hide their gaze
But I can feel their perverse eyes skimming my form. Hypocrites.  

We’re forever forced to dress in a way that is pleasing
And overtly obvious to their unclothing, naked eyes;
Liberating, perhaps, if we were granted the freedom to act in accordance
With how the silk makes us feel as it caresses our skin
With how the stiffness feels against the flesh of our chests
With how the weight of our skirts make us long for a tender touch.

I have to wonder if Harriet Mill sits equally adorned and ogled
As she writes of our enfranchisement, if John watches her work
In the dresses he bought to intensify her shape,
Before asking her precisely where she wants to be touched
Because he knows she deserves to demonstrate what she is capable of.
They claim that might is their right,
But they know nothing of the strength it takes to resist these carnal pleasures.
Observe my corseted form, but let me assure you,
This was not the kind of bone I wanted digging into me tonight.

I loved her, she loved me
not. She loved another who
loved another.
Hopelessness ran
through our bodies as one.
Together, we loved. Alone.
We climbed walls. Alone.
We walked the fields. Alone.
We slept entwined. Alone.
My heart, soaring, endured and surfed the storm.
Hers, spellbound, dreamed and ogled far beyond the horizon.
Our cheeks never flushed. Not once.
When she left, once again my sunsets were sunsets.

i remember how you hated arithmetic;
the nights spent huddled over assignments,
and in the midst of sleep groaning about numbers i never understood,
i'd like to count how long it would take for you to drift off.
i remember that you have ten fingers,
all of which have once touched me on wintery nights,
all of which have traced down the 65 inches of my body,
and you have two eyes,
the blue that ogled every part of me while in the shower.
and i used to love numbers,
because i could count each time i fall in love with you,
over and over again.
i remember how you'd mumble formulas in your sleep,
and i'd count each breath you'd take,
smiling to myself multiple times in the dark.
and i remember spending the 391 days without you in my life,
and it makes me hate numbers, too.

The lecturer stands, waving her hands
Wildly gesticulating
Squawking and screeching and and humming and preaching
Whilst our minds fix on matriculating

"Please, please I beg of you
Responsible for shaping heads
Tell your children this is true -
Use any verb other than 'said'!"

She demonstrates the dialogue tags
That we sages can impart
"Replied", "enquired", "sighed", "ragged"
"Norted", "blorted", "ogled", "blarted" -

But if a child uses all these
What kind of field will they have built?
Cohesive, engaging, with wonderful staging
Or splotted and sploged like a patchwork quilt?

For you see -

All the words inside your head
The ones who unwittingly cover for "said"
Are the drink-addled maidens you see in the street
Holding their heels and walking in bare feet

Flipping their hairs and waving their phones
Cackling and snickering in shrilliing, thrilling tones
As their best friends, the adverbs, grab them by their hair
Determined to prevent an emetic scare

To-ing and fro-ing, and never quite knowing
Where exactly it is they are going
All they know is they eschew intervention
By boldly pleading for more and more attention

But "said" is a lady of quiet grace
Wearing long tresses, muted dresses and a fair face
And sits beside each word with a natural restraint
Holding up quotations without complaint

Till it blends through the text like smooth, creamy paint
And fades till it becomes so, so faint
That it only feels natural to focus instead
On the intentions of the characters inside of your head

It's a word that fills most teachers with dread
But I earnestly plead to befriend the word "said"
For she's a hard-working lady with quiet conviction
- Does that help with your language affliction?

I can almost recall a time when I didn’t care... there was so much life laid up in store

frivolous days tossed aside:
grisly hangovers of endless nights,

I used to observe the characters of Paris from a window in Chez Camille... sun light flashing through the green of horse chestnut trees lining wide Montmartre streets-

well heeled parents guiding their chattering children past a
staggering drunk, **** marks up his trouser leg, greasy hair clinging to his beard

he’s avoided too by those girls in summer dresses, all legs and laughter and dreams

they are ogled by the old men drinking coffee outside cafes, complaining  about their busy wives...

back in that time when our choices could send us anywhere-
careening into old cinemas watching movies with wide eyes,
building driftwood fires on deserted beaches
or writhing with nameless shapes in little rooms
washed in strawberry *****

back before our choices defined us and hardened into everything we are.

back when right and wrong were only whispering
and the streets of Paris called my name

Matthew Scott Harris (the second offspring
and only son of Boyce and the late harriet harris)
made his unheralded debut on a brutally cold
January thirteenth.
     Once awareness blossomed
within thee Iris of each eye, Mother Nature with
proclivity to become most grounded when basking
in the seasonal pastel of sounds and smells.  
This predilection a rose and stemmed from self-propelled
exposure to fauna and flora.
     All creatures great and small found him bedazzled, de
lighted, fixated, harmonized, kindled, moored, ogled, quelled,
seduced, tantalized, vaunted from biodiversity.
His father - employed as a mechanical engineer with
general electric - heard the powerful lungs of this gangly new
born prior to being permitted to cradle said infant.
     Born in Cincinnati, Ohio, this sole son spent the majority
of his existence at two rural areas fifty plus four years ago.
     Audubon and Collegeville the geographic names of said locales.
     His ability to adjust from one than another grade school evinced
early signs of difficulty.
     Extreme shyness in tandem with a congenital speech defect (sub
mucous cleft palate) seemed to alienate him from other classmates.
     As an outside neutral observer, i watched with gut wrenching agony how he seemed socially detached and rarely invited to join in any reindeer games.
     Yes, a gross degree of taunting left him without friends.
     Lack of confidence and ultra reticence offered manna to bullies.
     Matter of fact, this vulnerability and susceptibility being
the pluperfect target, thee oafish goons i.e. enemies all against
a once upon a time puny punt able person unfortunately at  
receiving end of verbal slings continued all thru public education.
     He graduated without any vocational idea (despite an ignoble
attempt to fail - and yet got promoted nonetheless), and then endured parental wrath equal ultimatums with scathing expletive filled lectures.
     The absence of clear-cut goals found him enrolling and withdrawing
from countless colleges and/or universities.
     Delay with interpersonal success accompanied like a dark shadow creeping closer like the edge of night.

were we but souls fed to the crows
and worms that had us as only that?
no wonder our thinking turned morbid
and said: earth our home, fire our enemy,
coffin our mansion our flat our roaming-room,
coffin birthmarks it's earthen superiority over fire
which fire entombs given sway; let us chopin the rest,
and have us as a spelling mistake
to akin rock an armadillo rolling with
stoppages of "roll a *****, rock out with a poet
asserting ***** the by-product and poetry the
begotten famished youth!"
for the head to pop-up less readier for blow,
than blow on helium than horsey ready a hark...
macho australian flex, and biceps to give to
blown-up treadmill versus catwalk loot,
she ***** cha cha cha lip-gloss for a footprint,
she wore it with a fascination for language,
getting bored with sign symbols > > > (sharp bend /
quick & trendy instant graphic ooh):
in the real world red started trending,
and black was a usual tuesday for karl lagerfeld
who said: wear the same ****, over and over again,
and play the anorexic ******* to wear different
**** every day... be a fox among chameleons...
wear the same black tunic, turnip, tuck and shackle
otherwise known as a waistcoat all year round...
and they'll all puppeteer themselves around you
gladly ogled eyed all year round:
it might be summer in the sky, but on the catwalk
it will be silver birch dressed in khaki for oaken
wrinkles... and so on, and so forth... worth a rot...
had i turned to x-ray white suit and black shirts...
but the girls would have minded to adorn
a waste i claimed to be simplified by:
keep them thin, keep them anorexic...
the fatter the model the more materials we'll
waste tailoring: chubby gets the boot, the kick,
we need thin models, because the chubby ones
take up too much geography when cutting a leopard skin
print of silk for underwear.

A fateful cocoon
Just a feeling
Nobody told you
You just knew
You hear sounds
And sense the light
As you ready yourself
For loves revival

A sparse moon
Staring at the blue disk
Awaiting his lover
Silently wondering
Aglow from desire
Reflecting passion
Fed by the desperation
Of loves survival

You pushed through
The vine was bare
A budding romance
Warned by your thorns
To be ogled
And pruned
Until the day
Of loves arrival

The red circled thing
Owned the hands of time
It stopped and ogled at me
Our eyes met, and he snubbed.

He is vital to me
That I can’t live
Without even looking at him
The space he knows,
And I was left dumbfounded how he knows.

He owned the twelve sections
Clinched it with glass,
I thought he’s atypical
For his hands were not two but three
Now, I’m baffled of his identity.

He was quiet for days
But I needed him somehow
I wish to own him ceaselessly
But he’s running to fast.

Even if he’s staggered
He’s still making his shift
Working for others
Wouldn’t stop at any moment.

Farewell my friend,
I disgust it, gazing at you
My calendar was so rigid, so tight
Then you left me at night
Adieu, owner of time!

(2/21/14 @xirlleelang)

i ******* hate moving.
shoving my every belonging into boxes from lowe's,
folding,
rolling,
dust in the air.

there is never enough room.
i have too many pieces of myself and
i live closet to closet.
i try so hard to keep my feet planted,
shove them into the garden outside my window,
feel the dry mulch between my toes,
but the coat hangers attached to my shoulders
do nothing but drag.

now this house,
(this rental apartment)
felt like home.
for the first time in nineteen ******* years,
i had white walls and a window facing the street.
i had carpet that, ten years ago,
my brother and i would have ogled samples of at home depot,
running the plastic threads under our fingertips.
living in the center of town,
i would never be alone.
even if i were to wake up at 4 am, dry mouthed,
heart racing from seeing your eyes again,
the sound of car tires,
knowing that someone else existed within my reality
could make me notice your absence less.
my arms would still be grasping
at the space in my bed where you should be,
but the spot on my ribs that you held
would feel less painful tonight.

i can't stop feeling like you're this apartment,
which, as of tomorrow,
i'll be out of for good.
not in the sense that i'll never see you again,
but in the sense that i got a taste of what i've always wanted.

i'll drive by every day,
notice that the blue paint has faded
by the strength of the everyday sunshine,
but i'll still tear up
at the memory of resting within your eaves,
candles in the windowsills.

at work a few days ago,
my coworker breathed in my ear,
and my stomach dropped to my knees
at the memory of your lazy and quiet sleeping breaths.

i am detached and searching
because within every home i enter,
i scavenge for a chip of blue paint,
a messy carpet square,
a roof shingle,
fractured,
but nonetheless whole.

i search endlessly for pieces of you,
and maybe,
someday,
i could finally unpack.

A / Korean / friend of my mother’s returned
from Seoul with a gift for me / a Hanbok /
glowing with violent shades of pink and yellow

when I settled the / chima / on my shoulders
and tied the / jeogori / around my waist
I felt like a / white girl / in an / oriental costume /

The year I turned six / my white brother /
brought me to his school when they talked
about / South Korea / a real live / Korean /

to ooh and aah at while a map on the whiteboard
displayed my far off land for them to ogle
with / wide eyes / I leaned into the mirror

that night and ogled my / small eyes / that no
amount of widening could make / white /
All those / white / kids called me / ***** /

Like / ***** / in your armor? I thought
When / my white brother / got married no one
thought I was there for him everyone

thought I was there for his / Vietnamese /
wife. We’re here for the / white boy / his / Korean /
friend drawled. My ally in this sea of / white /

Mountain flower ,
She kept on flowering,
She gave the green grass utmost flowering,
She kept on flowering
Onto the rocks of the mountain
She grew and glowed
Away from the shades of darkness
She ran and rest at the shades of light.
With the rock ahead , she turned,
With the baking sun
She longed for the cool shade
under the vine ,climbing on another vine.
She ogled like a seductive goddess ,
Like boiling water she kept boiling.
Mountain flower.

Our pretty new neighbour Aunt Emma,
Put our dear mum in a big dilemma,
Every day she came home to tea and gossip,
She ogled at dad after every sip,
So mum took poor dad to her momma.
28/9/2019

A Sonnet to Women
I woke up one morning and was free of my intrusive sexuality
for years this was a problem when viewing glorious paintings
of women and not thinking about having them, the wonderful
statue of Venus didn't escape armless and helpless she was still
ogled upon by my eyes of unbecoming covetousness. Freedom
at last, I can now talk to women without  feeling a hankering to
see them naked committing immoral acts in my bed.


I love women I have a friend who paints women as they are not like
the dumb blond some want them to look. But beware they can be perilous
if thwarted and cheated in love, they can tell a man what he wants to
hear they are great in acting having been subjugated by men for too long,
they even got the blame when Adam and Eve had to leave the Paradise