My computer is as messy as my mind, and is scattered with pretty pictures and blurbs of my brain I was not able to keep in.
I am wired, I am worried, I am always anxious.
And maybe cause I'm scared and worst off I'm puzzled at what's really going on inside.
I lost a friend. A good one, not to a permanent lost, but very much likely will not ever see her again.
And that hurts, like an unacknowledged bruise taking place with me completely unaware, hurting only when poking at the location of bright purple and murky blue.
I hurt for you and my sensitives nerves are all bursting and boiling and bubbled over with swollenness of being overused.
I wish I could put my heart away. I wish I could pretend I had no heart and that people would not sink there teeth into me so easily.

I wish there words wouldn't hurt and spoil me. You think by being old enough the wounds of second grade don't come back to haunt you.
For me, at least they are shadows of my past warning me every day.
It's hard to say words that don't mean anything, worst off it's harder to say words that mean everything.
I don't let others in, no I shrink from that violent force of overcoming with love, for what would I do with it.

Love only makes one lazy and fat with self content. An artist can never be happy with their rate of talent. They search and lurk for more, hoping to be better then they were the day before. That is how we right brained people think. We hurt cause we always have this little voice in our head saying we will and are never going to be good enough. That our talents are empty shots heading toward the sky, as we fall back to earth realizing we are mere mortals who cannot break the atmosphere.
And everything has changed, and nothing at all cannot stay the same. For I've seen seasons break and burst, and I tumble through them on vapid lisps of sleep that do not keep my body operating very effectively. As if hurting myself is really going to stop the change around me, that my resistance to the new will actually make it less apparent that it's all turning into something I now do not recognize. And it's hard when the change begins to become hard. I can accept change that makes me feel bubbles of happiness, but change that makes me feel lonely or sad or empty I cannot feel. Overall this summer has been the adventure that I never anticipated.
It's nice to be free. Not having to worry really about anyone else except yourself. That is being young, and my brother and sister are doing it all wrong. I cannot help but wish I could turn back their clocks and make it so they cannot grow up at all.

She took me by the hand,
guided my fingers,
& my wanton-mouth
along the smooth contours
of her beautiful landscape.

I touched butterfly wings,
nipped high rosy cheeks,
tasted her full parted lips,
felt the cool rush of
her fragrant breath
& gently-bit
the slenderness
of her delicate neck.

She beckoned me
to move slowly onward,
toward her
twin heaving peaks,
where I learned
of more sensual-things.

She taught me about
the gentle twisting of granite,
slow-swirling-kissing,
& of the nibbling
of puffed sensitive-flesh.
It was exquisite.

Then she begged me
to quickly move southward,
over her rolling meadow,
upward & onto
her delicious-mound,
to use my yearning mouth
in fiery sensuous-ways.

There,
I fervently frolicked,
relished in
the tender petals
her pretty lady-flower,
gently spreading
her cascading beads
over magnificent
swollenness.

And when I caressed
her unfolding petals,
the most sensitive part,
she reached nirvana,
shuddered & spasmed,
released her rawness,
the tastiest of flow.
It was genuine intimacy.

Once,
only the Lord knew
how much I loved
my personal body guide
& know you too,
know the reasons why,
she is so lovely
& divine.

O these tender,
delicate,
intimate
moments
with her!

I lie face deep
in her beauty,
frolicking through
her lovely-petals,
kissing her wantonly
inside her open
receptical.

I am a witness
to her glory,
such sweet swollenness
unfolding in raw splendor.
And with a mouthful of her pistil
& my eyes fixated,
I tenderly swirl her style,
gently nibble her stigma
around her white filaments,
taste magnificent anthers
loaded with
her sweet
delicious pollen,
I feel her explode
into the wind.

O thank you
Dear Lord,
I swallow Heaven,
which quite simply,
is sublime.

It was a beautiful evening,
milk splashed
the skies above us
& the sounds of the surf
played magical
love-music.

The air delivered
a cool breeze
& the campfire raged,
threw sparks skyward
as you pushed me
downward
onto
our wool blanket
lying on top
of crystal sands.

You held yourself above me,
holding my hands,
positioning yourself
for the perfect entry,
waiting for me to ease up
into your tender-swollenness.

I was ecstatic
when you finally
started the lovely-ritual,
caressed
my most sensitive
body part
with your own
sweet spot.

The ember-light
revealed your fine hard-points,
moving pendulous above me,
to a rythym of the gods.

And with your draped-hair
tickling me with excitement,
I exploded,
emptied myself
deep
into your own
mutual-release.

It was a beautiful evening,
we collapsed in
each other's arms,
counted the stars
& felt the warm love
flowing inside us.

you see the surface
but you can’t see beneath
you only see clear waters
but do you see the pain
and do you see grieve
do you see the roots of an emotional trauma
add suffering, torment, agony and add a comma
please, help me stop
help me heal
look beyond the surface
and try to see
all the woes i tend to conceal
listen to my silent screams
and the swollenness of my throat
through the late night tears
my soul is weary
and my sadness has caused me a wreak havoc
o how tragic
that the twinkle of my soft eyes
have dismally lost its magic
                                   -s.a