"staking" poems
Today I got a heartache, it wasn't so bad
I told her my feelings but she just look back
It ain't even that hurtful, it ain't even sad
I just got to work out some things that I lack
Today I got a heartache, twice I think too.
Crushes aren't my strong spot. But I know what they meant
When they said no, I smirked and just say thank you
For their honesty and for my further development
Today I got a heartache, it stings now I know
I was hurting a lot and in progress, I reap what I sow
Doubts start to drown and I begin to fall
Should I keep on going or should I just stall.
Today I got a heartache, it was subtle and clean
But the girl is not bad, she was not mean
She said I am sorry and things will be just fine
I don't know if that's true. down the line
My head suddenly fell down, and I start to frown
How can I turn this around, I know that I should not be a clown
Today I got a heartache, a devastating one for sure
I was really rooting for myself, I got myself to endure
All those efforts and all those what I make
But she suddenly have someone now, and that I can't take
Today I got a heartache, it seems so repeating
When I try to change myself, I just keep on believing
But again it fell flat and all went bad
Will this continue while I am being sad?
Today I got a heartache, it's dreary and frustrating
I should get over it, I should just say it's okay
But the feeling is gone and I am in dismay
From staking everything, now I feel nothing
Today... I got a heartache, and I broke my own promise
It seems it always happens, like a cycle that keeps repeating
The feeling of affection I long, and that is now I miss
Please help me remember what is love and what should I believe in
But the cycle continues until someone saves me
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
wondrous words,
shades of colorations,
this pain,
artfully slow, steady stalking,
finale staking into
my hardened heart
with tireless twinges
of loss and constant regret,
painstakingly plinking away,
leaving pockmarks of bullets shot
at the concrete ring-fencing,
failing to protect me from just another,
**oh god not again,
have no mo' time**
for jes one mo' time
love's aftermath regret,
bitter acid wash,
that cleanses nothing,
for you are already nothing
when love loss wrenches/rents your
soul's garments with knotholes of
unfashionable distressed
distress
**better not to have loved,
better, better, better,**
than this battering silent hurricane
invisible thunderstorm internally,
than respects no seasonality,
for which the meteorologists
can predict neither its path or its
final cessation
painstakingly,
did I build my walled shelter,
only to fail-fall to the siege machines
of beauty and desire,
and
once conquered,
with fire and heat,
*they burnt me
from the outward edges inward,
and I am not a
Phoenix*
see the stooped slow white walker
more than dead, yet alive enough
existing to be witness to
his own devouring,
his hands wrapped round
the stake in his chest stuck,
painstakingly
protecting it,
lest its removal
be one more undoing of the
painstaking man
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
It's Funny how such Energy persist
When the Fourth Great Angel told me to Prud,
Staking Green Papers for her to insist
And see whether I behave or becrud
Even when the Situation intensed
By the Fallen One a Coward-for-Words
She took the Shield; And gave a Good Defense,
Plucking Feathers dearly in Screams they heard
You are the Heroine mostly Admire
In Duty latest Feelings compensate
Seven Wings drop by, waiting for Desire,
The Good Kind which all Good Women must take.
Wait for the other Four whilst keeping Knots
As the Boy in Blue Trunks took his Time forgot.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
Dear life,
Let these closings of long battles
And roads of new exploration be my new path for a new serene normalcy.
May these paths lead to answers,
Answers of who I am.
It's been so long since I've been the real me it hurts to a pain staking degree.
Trying to remember what once was me.
Nothings normal, all I once knew is now forgotten and gone.
You cannot expect to accomplish a new road in life, without having the knowledge of how to overcome its new and demanding challenges. Simply its obstacles are to great to exceed without knowledge. And even scarier to face. Not knowing the unknowing being thrown to survive in the Lions den.
As a writer I write, my thoughts, feelings and dreams.
I feel like a caged animal
At a zoo, behind glass
Looking at my once life
Now held captive
From this disease.
I miss my old life, I progressed so far.
Able to challenge my strength of mind,body and soul
Each and every day.
Now that is gone.
Grateful yes I am
Sad and ****** off?
You better bet.
Although grateful, I am not in good standing with the life I lead now.
I never asked for this change, I loved my then life and only pleaded for the healthiest body. So I may be the best I could be in all strengths from muscular to mental.
I would love to see the old me and old life I once had.
I would apologize with all my might for whatever I did for it to stop accepting me.
Then maybe I would learn how to live this new resistant relationship I am in.
It's hard to accept that your own body is fighting its every move and with its every move it is literally chipping a little by little of your life and freedom away.
All you can do is wonder why and watch it pay severe tolls each day.
If I cannot return to the past then please may my future be at a level of any normalcy that my present future lacks.
For the sake of my mind and all who are a very important part of it.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
Thumb and index.
Snare with caution.
To hold you firmly and into crocus sack .
Land crab beware. Hungry Belizeans on the hunt.
The Blue land crab rises with the rain and fiddles
forward seeking feed.
Or flooded out from his cavern.
The night brings silence then
an eerie crashing and clacking
by the hundred thousands they run.
The season. when I was a boy.
The art to catch the big one.
Stalk and wait as he travels afar
staking out territory.
Cornered now in fighting stance
back against the wall. a finger
was the bet to get one by hand.
The cowards choice was the
coconut thong that fell from a dying tree.
The Kiss-Kiss two feet long.
The thong.
That was my choice and into the boiling ***
he goes. the cauldron bubbled with a few
And maybe even crab stew.
I still have ten fingers five a hand.
The Kiss-Kiss my friend to the end.
I was chicken but the blue crab
went down the hole with ease.
No worries. The coward's way out.
Kiss -Kiss Rule.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
Struggling to swallow the strong spicy bourbon,
Staining his breath, like a meatball
Splattered onto a white t shirt.
He wondered, the most dear, delightful
Wonders. His minds roof slowly collapsing
Like the spine of a paraplegic.
He dreamed of the ways he could
Revolutionize the world. Desperate for
A sincere societal change; not only in
Norms, but in culture, politics, religion;
It all mattered, it all must change.
His heart struggled, stuck inside the
Pain-staking world he had grown to
Hate. "It mustn't stay the same",
He said. But, what did he know.
Things don't just change. Things don't
Just get better. People must die.
Innocent people. Normal people.
Non-killing people, they must die.
But he continued to think.
He continued to search, deep in his soul.
People questioned his sanity: **** lunatic!"
They would say. They. A word he hated.
Perhaps that was it. They!
He realized what he must do in order
To save all of humanity.
He sat down and he wrote. And wrote.
And wrote. And wrote. And wrote.
And wrote. And it was good.
His plan was almost complete. One more step.
Society would forever be changed.
Everyone would love. Everyone would eat.
There would be no bombs. No hate.
The world was about to forever change;
He hoped for the very best.
So he went to his room. It was light.
He reached in the drawer and felt metal.
Pulling out the key to societies happiness.
He, himself became happy. He looked around,
Then...
Bam!
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
We are strong, correct me if I'm wrong.
We are a work of art with a loving heart.
But once we were pulled apart by those we trusted.
Yes, the same ones that were disgusted
by the mere mention of our names;
the ones who never shared the blame,
whose only aim was to bring us shame.
It was easy to see we did not belong,
to stay would just prolong the torment.
Still, here we are to represent the innocent.
We may have been fragile once, a little too nice..
but that does not justify the slices
staking claim to our bodies,
stealing the territory we took for granted.
There will always be lies planted inside our minds
that are growing into vines, suffocating us..
but it does not justify the inhumane pills taken
to ease the pain that can't help but remain.
The dreams that we dread and run from will come,
but they do not justify the bullet holes in our head,
our wishing to be dead.
There is a way, a reason to survive, to be strong.
But correct me if I'm wrong...
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
This is for all the men
Who tell me I am beautiful
I can't hear you
Through all those years
Of being an ugly duckling
This is for my dog
Big blue eyes
My baby snugglebug
Sniffing for donuts
Chewing my hands in the morning
And the nail biters
And the chefs
Who lose fingers to the meatgrinders
And the farmers
Staking lives
On a drop of rain
I am vain
This is for the men
Who have faith
I am not the ****** Mary
Just another pretty face
Another lacy thong to take off
This is for the underwear makers
The firecrackers
This is for the characters
Who explode in the night sky
Like the fourth of July
And ordinary people
Are blinded by the colors
This is for the mothers
And the big brothers
And the Prozac poppers
This is for the bees that have stung me
I've eaten their honey
And my cakes would not taste
So sweet without it
This is for the surgeons
And musicians
And fishermen
For the men who have bought me dinner
And never seen a return
On their investment
This is for the beards
And chest hair
This is for my little sister
Who is finally growing up
The word "love" on her tongue
And this is for America:
Land of the free
Home of the mancave
Beauty is only as deep
As your mineral rights
The copper and coal mines of your eyes
Beauty flies as high as kite
Melts away like cotton candy
After a baseball game
This is for the men who called me beautiful
For all the beauty in the world
All the beautiful
This is for you
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
Fight Club
Kicking *** and taking names,
laying ground work and staking claims.
One punch and down you go,
all it takes is one fatal blow.
****** fists and a broken nose,
wearing spikes and stomping toes.
****** lip and two black eyes,
getting kicked between the thighs.
You only lose if you tap,
make me bleed, and watch me snap.
Haven't lost a single fight,
don't matter if you're black or white.
We have over a thousand members,
all takes place in chained chambers.
Do you think you have what it takes,
no time outs, or any breaks.
No Edward Norton or Brad Pitt,
no need for a fighting permit.
This fight club has no rules,
I love kicking in the family jewels.
You fight friends, you fight foes,
that's just the way it goes.
Come join our exclusive fight club,
just don't forget your ticket stub.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
You shuffle in
from the kitchen
half stooped over
under the cover
of your nightgown.
Dry lips smeared with Vaseline set in a lazy frown.
Stinking of Vicks vapourub
and oxtail soup steaming from your favorite mug.
Eyelids heavy and more than a little dozy.
Hand reaching for a *** of tissue to blow your dribbling nosy.
With the mug in position you slump on the sofa
propped up with pillows, I've no choice but to move over.
Despite the max level of the central heating
I can see you are still shivering.
A fit of coughing erupts, raw and bone rattling.
There's a wheeze to each breath of your laboured breathing.
Moments pass and then comes the first snore
like an animal staking claim to its **** with a roar.
I carefully remove the mug and fallen tissue
Softly I kiss your forehead and whisper, “Get well soon. I love you.”
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
fingers tapping against your thigh, music note mumblings. subtract everyone else and watch the feeling
m
u
l
t
i
p
l
y
disassemble and reassemble the ensemble and allocate your earnings as earnestly as you can without appearing overeager. overhearing a conspiracy between my lips and your neck. a secret isn't a secret unless you whisper it, so do it, make sure the russians don't hear us as they rush off to give reports on that look I just gave you, the one that is oh so telling. reveling in it. living in the revelation of your skin, pouring down your presence like honey, like sweet molasses dripping thick and sweet, simmering under the sun, glimmering in the water like a jewel, jealous and **** painful and dark and dazzling. beating only in anatomical hearts, out of tune, cacophony and cruel crimson, missing someone not something, left wanting and waning in the light of a lopsided moon, farsighted and fingers that prune in purple light rippling across the walls, willing to travel the planes of your body, embodied travesty traversing the sahara, dunes doomed to be swept away by the wind, breaking and kept away, each grain unable to touch one another more than once, gorgeous enough to be pain, staking your claim on misery before the misers bury it in their own backyards, backwards discovery, a convenient amnesia, believing ruses and runes to decipher in delicate dictum like tricking a language into translating itself.
almost too much of not enough.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
It’s the hollow sound of a toast to fill the silence of unaddressed questions,
the celebratory clanging of glass on glass
ringing from assumptions based on past experiences and theories
from synapses of protagonists or all
that is mystical; a god or a God
for the rhetoric of bad days; the precatory shoulda, woulda, coulda’s
you can count with all digits and the humdrums,
the lalala’s to songs with lines you can never remember.
It is to fill in, with pencil, the
blanks of unclear intentions, capricious endings,
the what comes after the highest number, tentative now, for it is a trick question,
the true stories of Bermuda Triangles and Altantises,
for the ones Amelia kissed goodbye and all that is brief,
promises neither broken nor kept;
some, hypotheses for what happens after waiting.
It is the makeshift certainty ascertained the day he left
all these unfinished, unanswered, incomplete… things. The sure of it
invented by staking everything in a nebulous something,
a nebulous anything that will have to do, like cotton patches
on satin dresses or saints for hopeless causes.
It was the invention to quench the constant
need to know, to fill the in-between start to end
for all that we can not stop. A made-up map by pirates below ten
for every time we must set destinations beyond unchartered unknowns;
a make-believe place holder to hold us to the relief
we get from closure when
the universe gives us none.
It is the lemniscate, the amen,
the St. Jude we assign to our altars
until we find actual satin or the aviatrix herself,
or surrender everything in the spirit of faith
or believe
that not all things unfound are lost.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
I drive all day
I drive all night
I drive to pray
I drive to fight
I drive
To survive
I drive
To thrive
I drive
Through lies
To criticize
**** eating flies
To minimize
My nocturnal cries
I drive until my hands bleed
No time to road sign read
I must satisfy my movement greed
Until I gain a glorious lead
And I may finally be envied
I drive all day
I drive all night
I drive through rain
To see the light
I drive through blame
To see who's right
I try to stay in my lane
But traffic is tight
I hear a car horn refrain
That's this road's blight
I drive until I hallucinate
But these visions are great
Much better than my fate
And as the hour gets late
The visions determine my state
I drive all day
I drive all night
I drive into clay
Once I lose sight
My car tires
Wrapped in barbed wire
Engine on fire
Like a funeral pyre
The ride has become shaky
From all the bumps I'm taking
In this massive bet I'm staking
That I'll brake before breaking
I drive until I fall asleep
Drifting down this pavement creek
But instead of crashing
Like a cigarette ashing
I fade away without a sound
Into the blacktop ground
And realize I love my car
After we traveled so far
But this revelation comes too late
As I approach heaven's toll gate
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
I don't play by the rules and she played me for a fool
If she knew I was broke then i'd bet
That she wouldn't even let me light her cigarette
She thought I was her lucky strike
She was staking out a claim when pay was right
She meant the world to me
A world on fire, she was gasoline
With a busted lip this jailbird flys
Some say i'm no good.. But they lie
Nobody ever wants to hear my side
She wanted me for my money
But i'm poor
Taken for a ride
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 4:14 PM UTC
I. Persephone
Naive girls don't make good lovers
but I will sink into the comfort
of your clementine lips, grazing,
staking claim on my skin —
an offering to your kisses made of molten lead,
oh, how surely, how gently they trail,
like a river following its memory lane.
And yet, I have apologies etched on my skin;
I am a poem that bruises quickly
like petals on the soil.
So much for being the goddess of spring
when all I have are wildflowers
and moans scattered on the sheets of the dusk.
We know naive girls don't make good lovers
so cast me, Hecate, into firelight
where all your daughters burned.
Strip me of this sundress;
my chest was half of Demeter's softness
and half of the underworld's wrath.
And yet, I, too, am made of papercuts
forged to look like carmellia buds
lost and slow dancing in broad daylight,
your hands on my waist —
a quiet breath,
a delicate touch:
such curious ways of coming home.
Naive girls, they don't make good lovers
but I will pick you stray sunlights and goldenrods —
leave them by your bed;
these sheets know that
I belong to no throne.
I belong to no man.
And they say that naive girls don't make good lovers,
but only just;
darling, your walls are an eyewitness
to your gaze and my corruption.
So much for innocence
now neck-deep in mildew and anomalies.
So much for springtime,
its fields, now made
for us coming undone.
And so much for winter, darling —
so much for winter.
It may never come.
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 8:10 AM UTC
Ancestors of a certain hue
With a penchant for adventure
Ventured West
Then South
Discovering lands inhabited
Eons ago
Staking claims nonetheless
with guns
For the Queen;
Silencing millions
With germs and the Old Testament
Way back when
All lives didn't matter then....
Those savages and heathens
Weren't men
But akin to beasts
To be hunted and subdued
For the Queen
They bled red;
Had eyes and ears
On their heads;
They even had two legs
And arms to match
But they were brown and black
A melanin caste
Destined to labor in the Sun;
To bleed and serve
But never lead
Cursed,
Said the Talmud.
Crime-prone,
Said the pundit on tv.
And the meme was spun
Spawning a presumption of guilt
In the jury's pool;
Guilt by pigmentation
There's a bulls-eye
On your back
Jack
And it's hunting season in America.
~ P
#GuiltByPigmentation
7/11/2016
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 1:47 AM UTC
When drinking far too much and then some more
Expected downsides documented well
Rough ride in psyche, body, gut, and heart
Specific atrophy in frontal brain
Quick charm and nutty humour now all shell
These changes, bad alone, but all combined
Resulting rolling snowball to a curse
No more the looming risks are sharp perceived
No more a likely readiness to change
Slow-building damage cures cannot reverse...
*The body
then the brain
then the readiness to change*
In adding to the insults body-wise
Dear close relationships will suffer ill
And ringing loud the chant of "change yourself"
while far and getting further from the change
All options feel like holds against thin will
The heavy stigma punches surely down
More evidence for judging soul as dirt
Not worthy of the care or patient time
That social justice would dictate for all
No room for being tricky, lost, and hurt...
*The stigma
then the hurt
then the treating you like dirt*
And even those with training in support
Will waver, shifty, turn their gaze away
Unable to identify the soul
That suffer-trembles underneath the mask
The clowning chaos, drink-besmirched display
And carers left to weep and wonder why
Should care be so impossible to give
Your daughter damaged, injured in the fight
With drowned despair and stigma-staking rage
Sad, wounding warmth that shame will long outlive...
*The weeping
then the care
then the shaming and despair*
"We just can't help if you can't change yourself"
So in this caring, wounding, weeping storm
Just conjure up the readiness to change
Or cede to judgement, shifting gaze, and blame
Feb 17, 2025
Feb 17, 2025 at 1:00 AM UTC
*We loved
With a love
That I didn't know existed.*
This is not a love poem;
This is a ballad
Of all the sweet love songs
that finally made sense,
This is a dictionary
Defining the new outlook on life you gave me,
This is the final scene
Of something so perfect,
It had to be nothing much more than fiction.
God stitched together
All of my cuts and wounds
With thread made of your touch,
Your scent, your voice,
Your laugh, your hair flip,
Your 'I love yous', your leftover strands of hair
Still clinging to all of my clothes,
As if this distance between us
Was never there in the first place.
We were like Romeo and Juliet,
Discarding what everyone had to say.
I loved you like I was an abused dog
Straggling along, pouncing on any piece of meat
That came my way
Until you held me tight close to you,
Letting me know that
It'd all be okay.
Your love rivaled that
Of the Sun and the Moon,
You had shed light on my world
When I couldn't see
Past my insecurities and downfalls,
And brought shooting star showers down upon me
When it seems like the bad days could not get any longer.
We trekked over hills and valleys
And sure, sometimes, we slipped -
but we always made sure
That we got back up and kept going.
Our love was a perfect melody,
And sometimes, we struck a sour note,
But your voice was always a beautiful symphony
That slowed everything back down to its right pace.
I loved you
like diamonds yearning
For the perfect ray of light
To grace its surface
So that it may project a perfect spectrum
Upon your naked left ring finger
That i had daydreams every day
Of staking as my territory.
We were a binary solar system
In supposed equilibrium
Until your gravitational pull
Ripped away all my outer layers
And you left me vulnerable,
so that you could use all my flaws
To become a black hole
and tear my whole being to shreds.
I loved you
Like the breeze loves flowing through
Your hair, making a cascading waterfall
that left me drowning in your beauty.
But now -
You're not mine anymore.
And I'm not okay with that.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
With the first glow warming your trees, I hear your voices.
Calling out to any who would listen, staking your claims.
This is mine, for now.
Your reign is ephemeral by nature, but that could never stop me from loving you.
Not to net or grasp, but to admire your beauty without custody.
Your songs are my bells of mindfulness.
I welcome you with all of my heart, and hope to hear you again.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
Sometimes as I lay still, eyes closed,
Bathed in memories,
Of riveting detail,
I'm not unlike Gulliver, on an island , pinned down by the Liliputs.
Awake, but, I do not know where ,shackled as I am,in time and space,
by these snippets of reverie,staking claim
to my mind
And I am for now, a felled giant.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
I lay in unfolded silence
upon sheets that blushed
roses on our flesh
my quickening breath
stuttering as you speak
in finger-tip questions
down the curve and valleys
of my unchartered territories;
now yours...
I am without thought as
the shiver of you teases me
to the point of unleashing wildness
that strains at each whimper,
each moan you gather and toss
wildly upon the liquid fire
that I am...
The sigh of you breaks down walls
as I am thrown to stars in stroking
wetness, the pleasure exquisitely
tracing the lace of sweat
upon lips pungent with desire
sliding to dip in a dance of
ecstasy...
I thirst for you finding a hunger
that borders on insatiable
as the beast within rises
voracious and demanding -
grasping to draw you in,
revel in my abandon and growl
in the proof that you are mine...
Staking my claim, I ride my nails
down your back to clench your
appetites driving me back and forth
within each stain of musk
as lusts rage to consume begins
to defy the shattering love that
you breathe into me
And when all thought and breath
have left me, when I am flung
so effortless to the fury of your primal...
I shatter....
In soft starlight and sapphire,
crimson silk fluttering in the depths of
each chasm and fold
I am suffocated on the bliss of euphoric
and I die each little death
willingly in your arms
I become as I am, gasping for tender breath
wrapped in the steel and flesh of you
crying for the need, the fruition of Us
as you murmur tender on love-burnt flesh
I am awakened as if newly made
as you smile into me, gently kissing where
you once ravaged and know
It only gets better.....
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
I am a writer.
I do not write just to have words on paper;
I write to have these words spoken aloud, with passion, with power to move people to tears and conviction in a single sentence fashion,
Both in the same breath.
Laugh laugh haha see a face? That one face, once full of comfort and love.
Turn it over, see it now full of maggots and dripping its rotting flesh upon rotting life.
A flower- Nightshade, beautiful and deadly.
Deadly fun weaving crowns of poison, wearing thorns and courting danger;
Flirting with disaster, a bride-to-be of pain.
Suffering; screams rip out of raw throats, animalistic and guttural.
Splattering, cracking as bodies hit the floor,
Smeared on the earth is blood and gore.
Why? I can't take much more - but there is nothing wrong with me-
Something's wrong with me.
These are your nightmares, my daydreams, fantasies you hope never visit reality.
Fantasies I may bring to life.
Hellish song arises from darkness, deep and haunting...
Alone in the darkness insomnia takes over;
And over and over.
Fear closes in chokingly close,
Surrounds-
Then it drowns.
Scarring images, scarred for life, broken upon the stones of my words-
Impaled upon the sticks of my anger.
A name, one name called to your mind, whispering from the deep.
"Names will never hurt me," -ha, lies.
This name hurts.
It burns into your being, a red hot brand on the soul.
It's my name, harming my soul with the memory of you.
I'm pretending not to feel it, I'm pretending not to care,
I'm trying not to live my life pretending you are there.
I know there is no going back but I dream of it,
You're gone now and I hate you for it.
I want to fall and with pain sate my thirst for it.
Tell me you love me, break it all down;
Tear up my heart with your uncaring sound.
I'm hurting- in pain -and you won't set me free;
Lie so sweetly and then smile at me.
Your hellish song arises now from the dawn, light and piercing,
Staking me upon your sticks and breaking me on your stones.
A beautiful flower- nightshade, rests beside my hand;
I the thorn-crowned, screaming for you, calling in tears for you, forgotten.
So in this hell I await your return, swamped in anger;
I can’t wait to get you back,
I’m going to get you back.
Just remember, I love you.
I hate you.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
I am neither
a war trophy
and indulgence
nor a hobby.
Because I live in a country
where women are no longer
legal property of their husbands,
I am, as of current
unavailable for mail order
due to the radically progressive
notion, that took years decades centuries
to develop
that a human female is, as a matter
of fact, a human.
You can, for a vicarious experience
leer at me
like cheap jewelry
then, appalled, denounce me
as too ugly for your usage
when I give the implication
that I am sentient.
And of course, I must be modest
Lest my tantalizingly average looks
provoke some poor man
into committing a crime
against humanity.
I dated some glassy-eyed narcissist
a while back
in a regrettable period of youth,
who indulgently stated
that his three favorite things
in the world
were food, music
and women.
(Charmed to be a novelty)
And a privileged, modern woman like me
Shouldn’t mind being consumed
like a pain-staking meal prepared
especially for him,
Or replaced in his tri-annual rotation
like the discovery of a new favorite song.
I continue to be
a favorite
thing, as somehow in 2012
the term “feminist”
continues to be the social equivalent
of “kitten strangler.”
And because my father
can no longer sell me
for a flock of sheep,
I no longer need to be more human.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC