Sometimes it feels so natural to let a man's hands run over my body, feeling every dip and curve and bump and bruise that exists.  It is almost as if his hands and his longing are physical manifestations of my new-found womanly confidence.  I have reached a point where I am comfortable in my own skin and ready to celebrate.  I want to celebrate like there is no tomorrow and do something a little crazy, a little stupid, live one more breath of this night and one more kiss of this dream.  Right now everything just feels so real and raw.  To feel a man's touch on a body still so young is nothing to be afraid of - it is something to cherish and hold dear, for it only happens a short while.

Sometimes it feels so natural to wear a short skirt and walk with a sway in my hips, each step with my heeled feet and long legs echo across the floor.  There is something in the reverberance that acts as a fire in my soul, the flames within as courage on the outside.  The sway of my hips work wonders as tickets to concerts, the pass to the front of the line, filling my empty hand with a full drink.  It is a drug of sorts and something that I cannot get enough of.  I take what is handed to me for the short while that it is available.  Wearing my short skirt and tall shoes, I sway my hips to the beat of a different drummer while I can.

Sometimes it feels so natural to drink to my heart's content and my stomach's contempt.  I drink to make the pain and the thoughts and the worries and the stress melt away as my body melts on the dance floor.  I become one with the music and one with the night.  Carefree and unconcerned I drink until it is dawn.  It feels so wonderful to live like there is no tomorrow with no regrets.  When I drink I drink to darken the past and brighten the future.  The sultry sway of my hips become the sloshing of a boat about to be capsized.  The running hands over my body turn into drunk fumbling and clumsy fingers.  But I drink while I can and enjoy while I can.

Sometimes it feels so natural to be so bad - defiant and strong and a will to do whatever I choose.

You struck a chord the moment you entered the vicinity,
Captivating all that crossed your path,
The stride in your step coupled with the pride held in your respects,
Unified by the reverberance of your allure enchanted most,
She was not fooled by the glee celebrated by the free,
Naïve she once was only to awaken to the taunts of the mistaken,
She exits from all viewpoints,  
Holding a guarded heart with precarious intent.

A smile is knowing
The dark crease of a well-arched spine
The dewy white lotus petals
The sad title of concubine
The blue glass so plainly beautiful
With its cold smooth sides
A blown vase that sits precious
Atop a dead deer's stretched hide
The hallowed ***** of a portruding illiac
And the decadent crust of a sweet fruit pie

On a black vinyl stage floor
In a room filled with echoing cries
The reverberance loud and hollow
With ears ringing opened wide

The bends of her young tendons
In her ropey pale limbs
They flex and harshly twitch
How a scared and hooked fish swims

The cyclic orbits of planets and lifetimes  
A ballerina's pirouette spins

Now the tarlatan and muslin gets torn to shreds
And the blinding stage lights quickly dim
The wet heat of a hungry tongue
Slaps upon her sweating skin

The audience simply does nothing
Just like the tall plant stalks of the green motel
Or the muddy vines in swamps in Rwanda
Or white wallpaper in the locked rooms of certain hells
The diseases that squirm in tainted waters
Of Liberia's ***** wells
The missing limbs of wartime amputees
Reflected in the golden glint of spent brass shells

Amidst the screams of
NO
STOP
NO
It yells the words
GO
GOD
GO

Through the grinning lips of the manifest destiny
And the arms of Khmer Rouge's killings
Its legs are formed from the many faces of lynch mobs
Its hands are hewn of American prison facilities and county jails
It's dripping deadly doses of fentanyl in local ****** shipments    
And ****** dancers

Was built upon good faith, foundation benefit of doubt
Although uncertain, leaning, favoring the untread route.
Impossibility! shout the jaded to the wall
to dulled reverberance , stability hushes each call.

But what window once met face to see far reaches of what may,
That pane you e'er panel, each nail hammered by what you say
til it's yourself left to talk to in the dark away from day
will you wonder how much longer with yourself you have to stay?
can you see in all that darkness what a coward you portray?

I wish deceit your venom elicited even apathy,
if not warranted repulsion of regard of you set free
but what thrashed to disbelief lurches into - for you i grieve
i'd never **** the worst to from yourself you'll never leave.

Today the words don't come to me.
I write and the rhythm is not automatic.
I search for the rhymes
And they sound stiff and easy to predict.

Today the title: writer
Is accompanied by an echo of "amateur".
The reverberance - a chain of disclaimers
Trying to excuse the behaviour.

Today the writer feels her words wilting,
As though the world has already heard them all,
And she can't find an escape in writing
Her mind feigning obsolescence - a blunt tool.

Today the writer feels
Like not so much of a writer,
But maybe that's because the words she needs to say
Aren't yet ready to be shared on paper.