Drama queen dreams
have been restructured
by good therapy

which has exposed
how close I was
to practicing popping.

Stabilizers expected
to shorten the time
between hurt and healing.

She said a week
or 2 is enough
time to try again.

Scared straight sane
by the threat
of a prescription

and the visual
of the structure
of my categories.

Troubled by realizations
of not loving them all
as much as some others.

I say "I Love You"
more to them
than some family

hear it from me.
Loved, they should Be.
Revision in progess.

It is my work
since it takes much
longer to sink in.

Real love is constant.
I've experienced pain
then emotionally reneged

when a higher love
was due and within
my giving power.

Make a decision,
she said. I am
reading the lines

instead of marking
my dreams between them.
I flip closing pages

while a tilted can
revives a life, once,
wilted in my hands.

Ray Lewis, your spokesman
is ripped and he's lean.
He's built like Adonis
and, by rep, very mean.
If I use "old Spice" body wash
as per his advice.
The ladies will swoon
as I'll smell so **** nice.

I'm short fat and Jewish-
a Nebbish at heart.
In intimate settings
I'm quite prone to ****.
So I bought "Old Spice" body wash
and lathered it on.
Then I entered the bedroom
and said "Babe, bring it on!"

Olive, my lover of many a year
was less than impressed
when I deigned to appear.
A giggle, a chuckle and then a guffaw
My confidence sagged
like my double chinned jaw.
"Darling, it may be you smell like Ray Lewis
but when my eyes open
You're short fat and Jewish."

The ad was misleading
and I feel like a fool
Not a mensch, more a reject
from a shallow gene pool.
Bad enough that the store
on my refund is reneging.
foreplay now requires
two hours of begging.

Her shallow waters, I dove in
head first trynna be someone
I shouldn't sin
suicide
if she wanted I would jump again; terrorist all she needed was a turban with a Taliban as a wristband
chants written on her body they were lyrics then
tattooed, and I was thinking more like angel wings instead she brought a dress from the devil on the ****** sands
tainted, glasses even tinted, everything Instragram everything vintage, everything is everything to her im just a witness; a blast from the past, a mistress of a mistress Killed it.
matter fact **** me this not what I wanted and I not who I should be; you say the sky's the limit but my limit is a frisbee my sky is a ceiling of a feeling of what could be
I don't think I want you any more!
MTA
stand clear closing doors
gasoline
burning bridges to the floor abandon ship ***** you don't wanna fall alone
but it seems im stuck in Davie Jones and swimming in her waters is the only way to roam,
grown
daughter of the music angel so; burn
Sean is the only way to go; swerve
I had get up outta there but no one elses water taste like Everclear and no one elses water I could jump in bare
matter fact there was never water there i could jump in raw, the rain coat was never there
Hold up, but what was I thinking
I knew her whole song she never had to sing it
I knew that it was wrong, I couldn't stop reneging
***** after ***** after *****
cut after cut with a blade
clubs I would cut cause of shame
I knew her whole hand so who is up for blame,
Or is this just a phase but maybe I was wrong, to think theres something better and maybe Im alone in thinking that there was palm trees and maybe nicer weather after I was giving up but I cant forget her.
so I
jumped in again, head first
she was wet all clear, slick roads
traveling full speed on her **** curves words slurred vision about to go
I'm bout to give it all up to this girl
my mans like I don't really think you know
cause once you go in raw you already sold your soul
and once you eat her fruit she already took your clothes.

Finally I found the courage
I don't know how or where from
to return, to open up, to come clean
to reveal my deepest darkest secret
hoping I hadn't left it too late
hoping this wouldn't turn your love to hate

You dismiss your elf
hear what I say
none of it matters
you feel the same way
I'm your missing piece
I know that you're mine

I've known love many times before
but this, this is different
more intense, just, just more
I'm swept off my feet
you make me complete

Our love grows
gets more real every day
we text, we chat, we want to meet
and we'll find a way

You ask for intimate pics
of bits I'd prefer I never had
(and about which you express most unsapphic desires)
you promise to return the favour
just not right now
though I feel disappointment
at the time it doesn't
feel like violation

Do I need pictures anyway
when your description's so graphic
that I see every fold glisten
with the moisture that lubricates
your journey home
so we can connect again
and again we feel the thread
that connects us
draw ever tighter
we steal our moments riskily
we *** together on the phone

You give up some secrets
deep and dark and terrible
yet others less dangerous you withhold
your 'dodgy Irish' surname
and her name too
the 'other half'
namesake as it turns out
of my first celebrity crush
when I was nine
the Mills girl as was

Then for me, the small disaster
your text is seen
I become homeless suddenly
and worse than that
lose the love of my girls
though that will in time
return I hope

And I still have yours
so that's OK
we're sure that will last all time
and we get closer still
well at least until
Christmas, when I head to Wales
full of trepidation
to deliver the news
that will shake my family further

The journey's made easier by your promise
that you'll be there the very next time
(but you never will be
and it's so long before I go again
that for a time
I'll think you jinxed me
with that reneging)

Nothing changes overnight
or over Christmas
or over the next few months
while for me everything changes
except my love for you

It's still wonderful
when we're together
but it happens less and less
as the crumbs of your love
fall more thinly
the thread that connects us
slackens gradually, imperceptibly

The realisation grows
that your love is only borrowed
that your heart belongs to her
that return is overdue
and in time
I brace myself
ask the question
find it's true

You're happier these days, you say
more settled
I know that's been true for some time
understand you never really were mine
I'm hurt you didn't tell me before
but don't let that show too much

We agree to stay friends
I cry a lot
I cry buckets
I cry thunderstorms
I cry streams and rivers and seas

You still have my heart
but I never had yours
it was her's all along
and I think I understand why it is
that you love her
too much for honesty
but not enough
to set her free

Cynthia Pauline Jones, March 2013

She always made so many promises
that she never intended to keep.
Lies spewed from her mouth day and night.
Her lies only begat more lies.
There was never any peace from the untruths she told.
Promise coming from her was a death sentence
to any plans you could possibly have.
All we wanted was to have a little fun,
but she ruined any hope any of us had at a normal life.
Hanging all our hope on a promise made in the forgiving darkness of night,
we just wanted her to follow through once.
Promises made in the quiet of night were always
broken in the harsh light of day.
And how harsh these broken promises were, too.
The unkept plans and dashed hopes feel more like
broken bones and bruised skin than simply reneging on a half-formed promises.
And we never called her out on it.
We merely let her continue on using our egos and morals as her own personal punching bag.
It’s not surprising then,
that she never stopped lying.

I easily confuse your ****** shrapnel with beauty.

When hearing the symmetry in the voice of gods.

That sweet balance of indirect proportionality.

Like sloshing foam trapped in an equilateral cradle.

Your lies always calming me into the ease of this chaos.

All these nights spent in this parking lot.
(You’d don’t know: I’ve been here before)

But now having tasted it, I can’t comprehend how to push back the veil.

And finally getting what I asked for, I can’t take the weight.

This reality sends me begging.
Cowaring in the corner.
Choking on all the variables.

Reneging for my well-worn cross.

To select and understanding friends, with love and empathy.

    The Thinning Skin Or, I Never Stopped To Think


I never stopped to think,

The skin gets thin.

Then looking down, I saw my leg,

And there it was: the winter

Of my life in action: reneging,

Processing past youth - and losing.

Not amusing!

Definitely not!

Fragility, a new reality;

Oils, creams and salves to save

A youth no longer tangible.

Every syllable wail of decline.

Not fine,

Definitively not, not fine!

And yet, I saw the possi-probablity

That by design God is benign,

And if the wine goes sour

Some divine sweet guarantee

Will make it fine -

Despite the programmed skin of youth’s denial.

The Thinning Skin Or, I Never Stopped To Think; 2.5.2018 Circling Round Aging; Circling Round Wrinkles; Birth, Death & In Between III;

Dwindling down, sans ​wasted potential, I let myself spin until dawn
New rise means shrugging off the ire
I live here now, despising the desperate thawn
It's only consequential that I relinquish my crown

Plot holes like potholes with ****** knees from begging
A preference of adobe over concrete slab
Someone has shuffled it, and by someone I mean me
Flamenco tip-toed steps I am constantly reneging

This yellow underbelly no longer seems so drab
A ravishing reluctance with which it astounds a convoluted loser of galloping gunfire
I'm no longer pitching myself as a pawn.

Fred Trump taught his sole son Donald
how to steal the leading way into more ***,
though no hint given, nor prediction forecast
in his growing up years, that would foretell,
thru base anaphylactic cronyism, egotistical
gall insidious kleptomania call, malodorous

Machiavellian offal obnoxious quintessential
skullduggery, unfair wicked yik yak zeal
to wield selfishness, a mean mogul with brass,
who would unstintingly live up to his surname,
and trump every law in the books of jurisprudence
and crass bend avast set of constitutional laws
to feed his ferocious fealty to the all mighty dollar

flaunting, fleecing, and flipping  the welfare
of those (he deemed must serve him
his insatiable hunger) to connive, dictate,
and expedite his hell bent assiduity,
an empire fit for a King, who felt no aversion
to mollycoddle, peddle, and wheedle

any zealous contractual obligation
(immediately abrogated), and concoct fabrications
vis a vis, a visa versa MasterCard his
American Express shun re: the art of the raw
FitBit (if necessary browbeating, depriving,
forfeiting meting out legally obligated pay

whenever an inconvenient truth awoke
in his noggin reneging fiduciary promises
to the risk-taking, moon shining, toiling citizens
ala Indian giving per many an unfair deal
exuding crass with especial treatment
to withhold wages for his (held in check)

Polish laborers, who built his city on rock and rolling
stock – so a Starship emblazoned with
outsize ego of an exploiter with no pay
to his backbreaking Polish construction
motley crue nor even mucho grassy us
for erecting his empire now ranked in
billions of dollars unfairly pointing a finger

to berate, dictate and finagle foreigners
(illegal immigrants, he would now boot
out of this country) to carry out drudgery
with hungry stomachs growling at slave wages,
lamentably plodding since any other employer
might question their vlsa status, hence anger
boils within this generic human enraged

his wealth squeezed from every last drop
of said craftsman, now if still alive old and
broken men crushed by the mighty
self proclaimed dictator of the proletariat,
whose hollow being blind sides those
he stares down, yet beware all that glitters ain't gold!