I like a whole lip-smacking smorgasbord of words,
such as preposterous and scrumptious,
sumptuous and curious,
roiling, rambunctious and trumpeting,
priapic, satyric and seraphic,
satyriasis and mimesis. Now this mimesis is the imitative
representation of nature and behavior in art and literature,
which is a pretentious way of trying to say what us writers do.
But hey, we don't just mimic things,
we can be sagacious and salacious, too.
Accordingly, I also like *******, which has a liquid sound,
and I'm not being facetious to suggest that
******* has a close connection to callipygous.
Then, for those who are suspicious of the libidinous,
I also like curmudgeonly and bodacious,
loquacious, precocious and pulchritudinous,
lubricious and fugacious,
scripturient, radiance, iridescence and magnificence,
lissome, lithe and languid (but not too limp),
shimmering and diaphanous, effulgent and evanescent,
flamboyant, fandango and flibbertigibbet,
(although this is difficult to say when you’re drunk),
voluptuous and vertiginous, slithery, **** and glistening.
And when I include crepuscular, strumpet and strawberry,
I may as well add whipped cream
as well, because this can be laid on in dollops,
and dollops is really an excellent word
along with slurping and *******, too.
Actually, I'm very flexible about words,
because in my lexicon, low moaning noises are OK, too.
These sounds come from the chord of creation
which is a sort of reverberation from the time of
primordial ooze, which I would like to squish between my toes.
Then there's protozoa, spermatozoa and also
wriggling flagella everywhere. So there.
But words don't even need to make sense,
because sweet nothings can say everything,
and heavy breathing can be ******,
even rhapsodic, ending in delirium.
Titillating should be in here too, because we all need
some tintinnabulation and tickling of the senses sometimes.
I've also decided that fecund is my second favorite word after love.
Fecund sounds abrupt, but it buds magnificently
in ******* and bellies to burgeon in absolute abundance,
everywhere. This brings me to *******, which I like, too.
I'm also partial to proud words, including bold, bulging and
brazen, along with a bit of swaggering braggadocio.
Then I like some big words, like brobdingnagian,
although I hope I'm not sesquipedalian.
Salivate is a word to celebrate as well,
along with onomatopoeia that helps choose some words here.
Drooling is highly evocative, too,
and it's not being provocative to observe that
even weapons drool when they're in the wrong hands.
And I shouldn't leave out *******, as you would expect,
because ****** is a sort of rippling word
that rhymes with spasm. Both sound deceptively simple,
but by golly, they can be intensely gripping.
And really, it's alright to writhe to this occasion
because all of us writers should endeavor
to have some good writhing in our oeuvre.
Even some bad writhing can be lots of fun, too.
But I almost forgot to mention yearning and burning (with desire)
and vulviform, velvet and venerous.
Yippee, yee har and hollerin' along with other exclamations
of exhortatory exuberance should be in this index, too.
Now. The words I don’t like include no, can’t, never,
stop and mustn’t. Also, irascible and intractable,
unmentionable, ineffable, inexpressible, incoherent,
immutable, impotent and impossible.
Then I don't like importune and misfortune,
and I don't know who thought up unthinkable,
because this is an oxymoron.
Inscrutable is also a complete cop out,
especially when there's no such word as scrutable.
Gawping, gaping, cavernous and cretinous, obsequious,
grovelling, pursed lips, circuitous,
obfuscation and isolation, unpalatable,
cruelty, tyranny and hypocrisy,
should also get the heave-**.
And I definitely don't like parsimonious and mendicant,
which are miserable words.
Quitting doesn't get there either,
and shut the **** up and ******* should also be taboo.
Also, hopeless is, really, well, it's hopeless
because it denies hope, and hope is buoyant and boundless.
I mean, sometimes hope is all we have.
But the word I dislike most is ****,
because this is an insulting word, and
to be taxonomical,
the negative score of this word is astronomical.
Hate is also right up there on this list. Hate is abominable
because it tries to destroy love, and love is indomitable.
Indomitable
is the
mightiest
word
of them all.
Yeah. So there.

Mike T Minehan

the snow swirled around
like the carousel of her dreams
unmentionable
attainable
covered in frost
dusty frost
and all she needed was a hammer
to crack open the frightening lock
but she giggled
and her friend giggled
and the snow swirled ‘round
and they found themselves buried
gone
but they could see more

for what surrounded them was
transparency
clear as beaming sunlight
sunlight that shone light on their cheeks
and snow that filled their throats
with pain
under a lactating sunset

and the snow and the snow and the snow
which grew
which perspired
which hardened
which schemed
which never
ever
melted
so that deer tongues--
those sweet animals--
were the only products of fruitless searches
that locked the friends
together
under the brilliance of a muzzled rainbow

My mother and I we can get along...
I love her and she loves me so on so on
Some days are good some days are wrong

The rolling eyes and sassy tone
They start it all, she explodes
It's so confusing to me not knowing when she'll blow

Lava comes pouring out with some unmentionable words
I've come to the conclusion my mother's a volcano waiting burst
But a nice volcano of course

Once more-I am condemned to t'is unmentionable solitude;
And so is my grief-my grief t'at hath been passionately seducing me-of late;
And neither clear dusks, nor vivid twilight, hath helped ease out my mind's servitude;
Even strokes of civil light-to whom I submitteth my visions; on whom I may rest my fate.

Ah, he who was once immortal-and still is,
His suffering is mine-and thus as reeking of malice,
He, who hath the tenderest of charms, and lips;
He, whom my heart abides by, and chooses to keep.

But his whereabouts hath been unknown, and a lie to my whole passage;
Still whenever I roamed yon outside region, he was nowhere within my sight;
He who hath been both sincerity and a malice in his own timeless age;
He who hath been indulged by my morns, and cooed to, by my night's impatient moonlight.

Ah, how canst he be but so unfair?
He left my poetry to myself, within t'is mistaken five-wheeled chair;
I am now anxious, strangely; about my own wealth of poetic torrents;
My mind feels humid, but itself hath been ferociously abused-like the mind of a fiend.

And to him my suffering is dear-for to its shrieks he showeth but contempt;
He laughs at it and locks it away in its misery-with not one drop of shame;
Ah, he is too impulsive to think of farther, and far too lame;
He is too wild-and darkly scented like night; but as well evil, and too slippery, to blame.

Thus I am but pain, and the whole world next to me is fear;
I knoweth I should drifteth away, but my ears, and insides-insisteth on staying here;
As if the crude, lying love were truthful-and easefully sitting near;
And couldst promise to cause me no more tears.

And thinking of thee sheds only more unwanted blood;
And t'is indeed, remains something I wanteth not;
For of which hath been spilled too much, and which hath torn away my heart;
For I shall not any more saint thee; and removeth thee from any further crafted story plot.

And so thou art not to be any farther painted;
For thou hath left any beauty abandoned, and too simperingly hesitated;
Thou made me feel betrayed, and teased my whole, productive solitudes;
Thou sent my glittering heart still; thou faltered my dignity-and more severely, more glorious youth.

Thou tampered with me like thou shalt doth an old proverb;
For thou detestest any poetry; and cursest any defining melodies, or verbs;
Thou tantalized my verses, but mercilessly flew and ran away;
Thou vanished my glimmering worlds; and harmed my cheery authorial days.

And thy accusations of me hath but been too vehement;
Like thou thyself owneth over me a verdurous tyranny;
Thou hath been too proud, whenst thou hath only but a grievous impediment;
And her, who was darkly born as a devil; and in whom there is neither desire, nor humanity.

And like her yesterday, thou art now too proud, and befalleth my private senses of humanity;
As she desired, thou hath now grown selfish, and tender not like before;
Sadly all t'is thou realiseth not, and instead taketh easily as mere profound felicity;
And thy passion hath likewise gone, 'till t'is saddened world ends, and existeth no more.

I am here all madness-madness t'at to its impertinent soul-is brilliant;
Brilliant to t'ose who are blind to feelings, just like his deaf soul perhaps is;
But madness, still I regard-as although infamy, deeply pleasant;
For it shall lead t'is ignored poetry to satisfaction, and widening secret bliss.

But either there is love or not love, shall I respect and be loyal to poetry;
Even though thou chooseth to follow her and forget our whole, significant glory;
I shall keepeth silent, and still be thankful for my taste-and untainted virginity;
I shall be proud of my true doings, and my equanimious love, for thee.

And my love shan't ever be bought at any price, nor even priceless syllable;
As well my triumphant words-for to them, aside from loyalty, nothing more is desirable;
For I believeth rewards are only for them who reserveth, and professeth, loyalty;
And for in every endurance there are charms, and even more agreeable, royalty.

And shalt never ever thou findeth my purity, and love, be tiresomely divided;
For my love is secure, and shall love its beloved all devotedly, and unaided;
My love, as reflected by poetry, is abundant, though sometimes childish-and even soundless;
But still terrific as rainbow, though more silent and tuneless; as one symbol of my loyalty, and truthfulness.

And accordingly, somehow, amongst thy invisibility-I senseth thee still, amongst yon verified air;
Of whose whims I am not afraid; of whose ill threats I was not once scared.
For t'is solitude, and its due poetry I hath undergone-hath deeply had my finest self purified;
For it hath been my friend-and indeed not thee; sadly not thee, for thou thyself hath chosen to be far, and left unspecified.

Like all of those beings, perhaps thou art the one also too silly;
For to love thou stayeth idle, and bothereth not to ever look at-for fear of purifying thy glory;
Thou art still one 'mongst 'em, who claimeth love is no higher than gold;
And thus deserving of me not-for as thou saith-love is trivial, and its seclusion canst be sold.

If you don't by know as of yet whom
I refer to as __,
you will soon enuf;

It is rare that I can go there so well, even on occasion for the destructive,
5th dimensional gifts running backwards, Houdini by grave doing back-flips,
for along with the Heart's of David Copperfield types wanting to know how,
can we pick up a few of these tricks, in other lifetimes my type picked up many,
places along of course through Kemet's of Egypt, and not so far back but,
is where I had to go on the endless effort of trying to find the magical child,
already gone by first of memories and I thought woot hoot I could juggle,
the woes of humanity or inhumanity as I see know, you know by;

justification of I don't see any more or less innocence or guilt,
round here but if there is such a great need when I saw it,
and figged I cud get through it, it was love for what else,
could there be and I do, be and fill so much very need;

but X'yzz....ah 'um once there was Shakespeare,
an era wrapping up by befalling heads wanting bread,
of whom exclaimed well if those are their terms and conditions,
'Let'em eat cake' ergo and or our newer foundations; but as far as,
I knew it and I wondered and pondered how why wherefore before,
someone who seems projective of who dare be Queen or Princess,
more than aristocratic, the vine of genetics, KISS keep it simple silly,
why war for this nonsensical stuff;

it's not the decadent decedent's,
but off Divine Spirit;

well money power sure can keep well hidden powers and you can,
hmmm get along for a spell but here a spell there a spell with each castle,
Humpty Dumpty oh well;

but now again is the Globe again along with Life,
the stage we are cast upon truly;

it's time for our own era's Renascence;

but last I knew them truly with all gifts 5th dimensional they and their darkly companions,
too now here they are onto years unmentionable, still can't honor it and I guess they,
just want death, not more than one way about it, they will try to out wait and hate;

hahaha,
but by me I've taught them all they know and no matter who they turn against me,
10k in a court room dey'd not dare a step by one in however remember Howard Hughes,
I would say I do always love and though too I am the one and only and best friend indeed,
even though I know I am the enemy, no matter what they say believe think and even feel,
but I love to play nice like thrice no mines about it,
giving all overly good information,
fairer than fair warnings;

they gather darkly more into about their hypnotic spells castings, kinda crazy all dead set against me, when last to save their own ***'s, there were some identity issues and class type things but they were, known as good in the end and yet we have yet again to begin;

'dey don't know themselves not even by here now this lifetime alone,
black art denialists wooing all about with sugary treaty's they bark bark,
but if they bit the wrong cat here to hard their teeth would fall out;

yet and the roots seeded here now for the better part of the show with new,
edit-eers producers rolling arts in, I know, I will, I can, I see these things always,
before they appear and blood bearing beings near on, ain't willing give or take,
some where and the billions of years the dust rocks and trees already are on;

all kinds of well you know, what we've got going round now along with a time,
to come from the woods of our hidings and out from the fear to be gods birth right,
citizens we played a lot of silly games of peeka boo pretend,
ain't heaven ain't here the list is long,
we know all to well

I am not interested in you view on life
Sure I was once upon a time
But it has been to clear for to long
The un-Godly time unmentionable
that you and I have blasphemed together
Sure you say you have yours and on the other side
You are a babe again

Then, well so what
what am I
here now
thee unmentionable time
where the dead prescriptions
are busy being written
as stories
for grave stones
where you have a world
for babes
that are better not born in
not your own
no one
thee unmentionables ours
or who'd dare claim them

Tell me something new
for my own sake
the children's
or from yourself
and I am ears
I am heart
Love
forgiveness

Yes **** it
I could be interested!!

Not in iced over cakes
that have their day
and nonsense
and spend eternity as
death
and decay

Or non-nonsensical romantic fairy tales
I'd dare not tell the precious young
Where sugar and spice is only nice
And the end is already written
in the beginning
I guess so sadly to say
we are so beyond that
but for differing reason
Mine is already stated
Yours is self pity and hell's
fury and justifications

Tell me
Show me

Something NEW!!!

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons...*

Beyond the blackest cotton glove,
the compulsively edited manuscripts,
unmentionable lines untrained ears love;
beyond the satin lining of a human husk,
the failing engine or cooing soul
nightingales smuggled in the dusk;
beyond asking how giraffes like to die,
the moon's waxing through a kaleidoscope,
eyes hollowing before hearts tell a lie;
beyond the manifestation of a mental illness,
the coffee spoon having no coffee left to measure,
an overwhelming sense of an unseen presence;
beyond where the orchard truncates its blossoming
is renewal of equality like an unmapped sea
spilling its welcome to a choked wish.

The Lung.

The broken bone branches hang heavy off knuckled tree. As cold and uninviting as wrapped meat in cellophane prison cells and those sweating milk bottles left on doorsteps. Women cry with the blackbirds as day breaks, rousing their reluctant nests.
As the shadows trawl in from chicken farms and slaughterhouses, across the squalid estates and past a debt collectors party. A ***** drinks his soot like coffee and waits for another years tide to retreat. Holding pith less ambitions and unmentionable qualifications, stewardess pass, uniformed thoughts and averting faces..
The rusty playgrounds sink into the fermenting wood chips, and a plastic bag runs through the scene; only to commit suicide in the oil ribbon canal. The chemical clouds thicken into a duvet of sky whilst  arrows of a natural sun run home with tears of fear on their hot faces.
Down here the street lights flicker, and the patched uniforms drape off children sick with the flu that hit the school like a plague. Herding like cattle into the classrooms, to learn about the natural world
that is most unearthly to there reason.
Lunch bells ring from factories and the sky has drained to a sick -off white. The chip shop sells butties with no sauce nor bun, which machine like men guzzle and slurp.
The car parks lay stagnant in the distance and pigeons too fat to fly lay droppings on the bronze statue of a crying hero. As the roaring stops from the factories and high visibility coats are hung,  the sky bruises and the men fill the pubs, until wives with children hung on washing lines drag there sweat soaked frames to the table, only to indulge them in a row.
Night creeps in, bringing with it the hooded figures that flutter along the streets. Music plays from a vacant building and seems to brighten the night.
A silhouette is seen standing on the edge, watching the busses bellow run like migrating snails, filled with the elderly and too young.
Cigarettes infest the streets creating a carpet of ash and litter. The city survives, remaining grey, never blinking, never heard.

~
When Pharaoh
checked out at the Red Sea,
odd circumstance made a grab for his vacant scepter,

and kingdom collided
with plague to paint a mural
on the palace wall (or maybe, it was the hotel lobby),

of a dreamer's garden,
his wife in veils, her dance a cordial
invitation to a great many unmentionable things,

the feral sky had blown
itself out, and in muted candle
nightshade, the mistress of war disembarked,

and so somewhere
in those upper rooms, ruler
and consort, hearing the sound of running water,

mystified their carnal
senses by infusing themselves
with a little vigorous morphine of the soul
~

They told her
It was the unmentionable disease
Lung cancer
Soon she would cease

But she was only nineteen
Never smoked a day in her life
Hated the **** things

So as she lay
With a respiratory mask
Tears rolling down her cheeks
Dwelling on the past

Family surrounded her
But her dad was missing
He was outside with
What he couldn't live without

Inhaling the fumes he lit

We loved them because
they loved to create.
A tailor and a builder.
made art from nothing.
Left a legacy.
Constructed beauty
from seemingly nothing.

Oh boys,
Our tailors and our builders,
Without you, we’d be sleeping just fine.

He blew her mind
Made her consult
With her old dear friend
Jack
(Daniels)
At hours unmentionable to civilized people.
Who indeed made her feel better
but also made her feel
Worse in the end.

He could talk real pretty things around my head
And I was hooked like a fish
It’s been 4 years and I’m still not free.
I’ve never met anyone so broken
And yet so comfortable with his millions of pieces.
He taught me to take the lenses off
And embrace this life, this love, this way.
Everything that happened before
Is over.
Tomorrow is just what we’re calling 12 hours from now
And oh, won’t those 12 hours until then
Be ******* glorious.

He molded her
Into a volcano.
The kind you see in middle school art class
That the kiln hardens
and it becomes supposedly unbreakable
Until one day, you find it has been chipped all along
[You did that to her, you know.
Broke a piece off her without even knowing it.]

Now that we’re older
they suddenly saw us
When before we were just the backing cast.
Made things that belong in the deep
Accessible to us without fishing lines
Now that’s just a cruel game to play.

It’s funny that it was
a tailor and a builder
who gave us the courage
to not need
to be built or tailored
anymore.

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.
Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.

Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly ******* they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
'I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,'
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings ***** the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.

You have these wrong judgements about me
And the haughty expectations.
I bet if someone asked a question:
"Do you know your daughter?"
You would say
"Yes."

After all,
You have lived in the same house with her
For sixteen and a half years.
But you can only begin to imagine
The life that I lead.

You know I am liberal,
But my feminist views would shock and disgrace you.
Get your conservative head out of your ***, please.
And realize that I care about people
Not politics.

You know I was molested when I was young.
You do not know that a friend has since
Abused my body in unmentionable and uninvited ways.
But I cannot tell you this.
I do not want you to reinforce the idea
That I am overreacting.

You think I am selfish and that all I do
Is pick fights.
I'm actually terrified of rejection
And have minimal self-esteem.

You think that I enjoy going to church
But truthfully, I do not agree with their theology or interpretations
Of most things.

Plus, most Christians are hypocrites.
It is so easy to point the finger
Without actually spending a day in someone else's life.
Oh did I forget to mention
I'm bisexual, I drink, and I have *** before marriage
I'm not exactly up to their standards
Or yours.

This just scratches the surface
Of the reasons why you don't know your daughter at all.

I am a caricature of humanity
- a picture of its seething bowels.

I am its sloshing,
quivering, yet wholly earnest intestines
made manifest - I am,
the inside-out freak show
we all crave
dancing before your eyes
oh, and what a feast of eloquent gizzards you witness!

Feast your eyes, my friends!

I am what you wish you weren't
yet know you could be
as you yearn to be as free as me
all your shame and volatile desires
all your sadness and madness
all your dreamful bliss
I profess it daily
in an ode to you, my fathers and mothers,
in an ode of love for absurdity,
I am the cartoon character made free of its stage
the puppet made free of its strings
the loon, made free of his rage,
a benign insanity,
not capable of harming a germ.

Don't pass by
by all means
gawk
it's my pleasure that you do so
breathe my callousness in
shudder at the thought of being so exposed
having all your human nature bleeding there
like my crying eyes
as I tell you of all my past loves
and how I still love them
yes
even the meatloaf
still eating it
that baby towel
still snuggling it
that algebra homework?
Still completing it
and there's a missing grade somewhere
in a dusty book in a warehouse
imagine
how I'd creep in,
decades from now,
hours before my death,
open that tattered grade-book,
pen myself an A+ for my immaculately completed work
- fist pump the air!
Take that Ms. Cramsworth! I may not have beaten algebra,
but I beat you!

Die right there
in that warehouse
amongst all the other freaks.
There's Bigfoot, who slipped accidentally one day, got impaled by a branch, then called 911 - he had no health insurance, that's all she wrote. Bigfoot's just another disenfranchised-American statistic now. Bigfoot's last painful hours were spent taking selfies with holocaust deniers and people fashioning MAGA hats - some with rifles for effect - it was then Bigfoot regretted voting for Trump and only then. You were just rudely-awakened from having sympathy for Bigfoot, weren't you? Poor baby. Save our souls.
Then there are the cryogenically frozen heads of the Illuminati we're all worried about - they're trying to sleep until humanity can make them superhuman bodies.
A flying saucer that was alien in so far that it was actually a time-machine from our distant future that brought people back to warn us of an all-consuming genocidal calamity, but they spoke a language we didn't understand, had genetically surpassed us, and therefore were unrecognizable to our labs, and we took their highly-advanced babbling as acts of war when they tried to **** the Illuminati heads - killed them then, so tragic - ate their gizzards for research. Now we're all doomed to die... Their bodies were lain next to the Illuminati heads. Centuries later, the same couple, now janitors from the freak warehouse, see themselves, find the time-machine-saucer, and start the time-loop again... inadvertently causing the end of humanity because they messed up the timeline.

... and that's exactly why I never did my homework.
Humanity is doomed to die in some distant future caused by the doom-couple and so I refused to put a brick in the wall. I refused because all I was was a...nother brick in the wall and I hated it.

Because as fascinating as I am.
As absurd as I am.
As much of a human marvel as I am.
I don't matter. I matter the least.

And so that's why I had to die in that off-the-books warehouse,
full of priceless and unmentionable artifacts.
They wouldn't ever put me there, but I had to die with the legends.
I had to give my life meaning somehow.
If I can't live a legend, I will die one... by the way the janitors put me in the trash out back anyway.
I end up in an east-Asian landfill somewhere, kicked in the face by barefoot sweatshop kids who just so happened to make the sneakers on my very feet. Isn't that poetic justice? What a send-off!

And so isn't that all a satisfying and cathartic end,
giving closure to the most absurd poem,
with the most random details,
wasn't that fun?

I decided today when I woke up
To write a poem  for everyone
I'd start off with the very old
And end up with the young

In between I'd have kings and queens
Along with a peasant or two
A genius with a dozen degrees
Even a few without a clue

For the in-laws and the outlaws
Though at times they act the same
If right now they're sitting next to you
No need to mention names

I'd also write it for the Catholics
Protestants and Jews
So as not to leave anyone out
A Methodist marching band with kazoos

What would a poem for everyone be
Without rodeo and circus clowns
The ones that paint happy faces
Over the top of their life's frowns

The tall the short and skinny of course
Those that are tipping the scale
Which these days are most of us
But let's not dip into that well

And of course I can't leave out
All the gays and all the straights
Who never knew that they were straight
Until the gays knew they were gay

I guess we've all been labeled
I really don't mean to offend
Oops...I almost forgot to include
All the mustached women and hairy backed men

If you find you weren't in here
And think that your unmentionable
I'd like you to know my friend
My rudeness was unintentional

You may take this poem for everyone
And do with it what you wish
Perhaps the closest receptacle
Where it may join it's friends...the trash

READ THIS ALOUD!  

LINK > https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AbYkiKKNZEI

Bangkok Spooky      POEM By: David Wayne Clare
(Edgar Allen Poe style Poem I wrote about NaNa Klong Toey – The heart of Bangkok’s Wild Nightlife Fun!)

Where every **** Thai ***** filled night on the Sukhumvit is like Halloween...

BANGKOK, a dimension of unspeakable filth! In forbidden circles of those who never admit they detest boredom. Will do any curry favor to partake in the whoremongering Babylonian proclivities and vile ****** festivities found only here in this seething sinister air in this insatiable cyclone of sin is thick with musky city 5000 year aged ancient old dust…

This, the Krong Thep City became Bangkok in 1769 today still as then can turn a wholesome foreign gentleman into a freak a wholesome man who dare visit here will fast become a vexed drooling fool in less time than it takes to cross the filth ridden ****** crosswalks of ancient soot and dust from the many Tuk Tuks exhaust the man will become lost and of no use as his very soul will wail in the Asian musk –

...once bitten twice smitten kid in a candy shop will drop his Thai baht money as there is no way out as to ever leave here… as he yearns to become wanton in fiery incision with incurable desires within this hideous overload of sensual persuasions of kitsch and splendor vile derision…

Better wear tightly a neck brace as the Thai traits of beyond gorgeous dolls trolls and trollups

Will beckon your embrace where even Ulysses could not be bound by sailors ropes as the sheer grasp with Herculean strength of a he man will snap the mast of the voyagers ship as you slip into the abyss of her to die for jup jup kiss…

He will wish away his all until his head takes in all of the bliss and soon he cries tears of blood.
Siam, is the age old ancient matriarch of ultra **** ladies very young to very old.

Caveat Emptus, to all ye fools who dare enter and dare to survive here as this is the fool’s gold street soi boutique in the twilight realm of illusions and lady boy Léger Jermaine…

Beware, there is no turning back in Bangkok! Its nightly floggings and unmentionable 10,000 delights has for eons mesmerized the lost fools Oh the tales of ancients street freaks grip tightly
Your very soul nightly!

D. Clare

5 8 15 20 24 29
SoHo seems nice this time
of year; although I am terrified of going
anywhere near a city that holds you in its hands and above me, too high
to me, you are New York. but when I walk down Central Park West my shadow clings to my shins
you scrape my skin with your breath and I feel hot July air that is trapped between your buildings – these subways are too stifling
I will let you lift up my skirt like he did, but only because I know that it’ll rain heavily the Chelsea Pier after.

1 17 23 25 41 47
Churchill
I think my eyes are permanently squinted; agonizing over the shape of your eyes and how they
relate to mine – even in the light you’re missing pieces, your rocks are crumbling away, you are sand – your grains hold words –
unmentionable, special, temptress, miss, you, nothing, work, in my dreams, diffuse, instantly, affection, with, you, stuck, darling, attention, far, vivid, feather, waking, wasted, sweet dreams, worth, wish, awake
I always feel my conscious wrap her delicate hands firmly around my throat and pour salt water into my eyes when you are in front of a screen, in front of me – I think maybe I should cut pieces of me
could I mail them to New York? to SoHo? you can curl up with them in bed and try to find the grooves where you fit in, or just fry me on the grill. Ideally, you should consume me so that I may never leave. only if –

15 18 30 32 40 42
I’ve been pinching and piercing my skin to prevent me from crying more often than
I sleep. I know it’s morbid and dramatic but being slaughtered by tears is not how I want
to spend my Saturday night. I’d rather see Basquiat on a wall or short films screened while I watch you instead. I would walk until my legs gave out and
trace one single finger along your spine. And here I am, grasping my skin between my fingers and pinching, squeezing you out – I can just scrape the excess off after you’re gone
tomorrow I plan on eating as many seeds as I can to grow flowers in my throat and have them sprout past my eyes so all I see are petals. They’ve been missing for a while. The weeds still cover
my stomach. If only when I thought of you I thought of flowers. Most of the time I see a hand reaching through the thickest fog. As I reach for you, all I hear are 35 words that cover me.

Sounds rather risqué, right?
Like an unmentionable body part.
Not a person you might care about.
No the other half of your heart.
Not my partner or sweetheart
Not my husband or my lover.
Any of those titles above
Will appropriately cover.

No, they call me your friend,
Your little buddy, your ‘thing’.
That last one I always suffer
As particularly insulting.

But, not my watchacallit,
My whatever, or such euphemisms.
They hit me like less than kind
And disapproving colloquialisms.
I mean, how would you feel
If I referred to your wife like that?
Calling her your sidekick or
Something like a stray cat?

I have no problem with asking
How my honey is doing today.
After all, that’s really who he is.
He’s my sweetheart every day.

So, think for a moment, please
Before you begin to speak.
Your lack of sensitivity can
Only make you look weak.
Just because we didn’t choose
The path you chose to take
Doesn’t mean you’re better than I
So, give this bigotry stuff a break.

He’s my partner and sweetheart
He’s my husband and my lover.
Any of those titles above
Will appropriately cover.

Strange
How when all is going
According to
Plan

The record stops in spin
Clouds turn to black
And the round back straightens

I'm awake here
Seeing bare
Attending to cares
But unfulfilled

There is a liar amongst us
She smells of raw fibs
I run my palm
Across my bare chest
Feeling ribs

We are bones
And meat
With a mind we can never fully

Control

A mystery
To myself

Born again
Dying again

Re-living
Nothing

Attending
To
No one

There's a white envelope on the nightstand
With a sum of unmentionable dreams and desires
The shelf stands *****, but I am crooked
Burning a candle in the twilight of midnight
Reminds me that a gift is also fire

And then there is the fact of movement
Evolutions only prime device
There are no tricks
There are no riddles
There is nowhere you can tinker or fiddle

Overtime, we only get better

Move her
Admit him
See that I
Am inside every syllable
Etching a private universe
To perfection so whomever
May choose to enter
May re-live and experience

Matters of Heaven and Hell

Closed off
Sending smoke signals
To
Irritable Gods

Bunk beds with religion
We amass our hatred
For one another

Then play chess with jazz playing in the background

Red oyster shell wrapped around
A ghost white finger
Music tiptoes under my doorway
And the mailman is late with my paycheck

When I worked
As a paperboy
I enjoyed
Riding the bus to school

Because of late night snacking
I now have anxiety
About free breakfast luncheons

A next step for mankind
Seems like a lot of work
And very little pay off for the rest of us

Why are buses designed so poorly
And have no Maximum Occupancy?

Say goodbye to late night friendship
With snapskypefaceinternaboutfacecreditreport.com

She moved her hand
Over her eyes to block out
The sun. The brightness
Comforted her, but, being
An only child, she disapproved
Of anything resembling comfort.

A new noon is upon us
I speak for anyone with a pulse
A new moon has arisen
Any speakers of tongues shows false

Anonymous fortunes
Have arisen between the black and white
Bed sheets are randomly bursting into flames
And grandma weeps regularly

When love dissolves
Like the first fog of dusk,
The sun burning through
Mists futile efforts to shroud we dead men,
Put your ear to the ground
Hold to not make a sound

Witness the frost break
As the business men cut their steaks
See the poor out on the gutter
The addict trip and sputter
Change is not around the corner
The lies are as thin as the coroners smile

This kind of place
Smells of dry skin and regret
Dead brush and a unforgiving sun
Love takes off
Its always on the run

Sometimes
I don't know the difference
Between me and you
Sometimes
You try to tell me something
That I know just isn't true

White cut on the hem of her dress
She says something to me
But I can already tell that she's in distress

"Let me in your taxi," she squealed,
The bangs of her hair bouncing over her face,
"I'll tell yah something. I'll show yah' some lace."
I opened the door with a stone hand
And as she sat next to me I looked over
To see she was holding a beat up tomato paste can

Whispers of truths only turn into bigger lies
A butler coughs as he adjusts his tie
"The body needs to be washed up around the thigh,"
It explained, a shadow under each of the mans eyes
"There is no instrument man can trust to rely,
Other then that of God and his belief in the upside."

A road
Dispelled

A life
Cut short

A boat
Drfiting
Into Port

At last the fog has burned away
So we can decide
Whether you go or you stay

Cloudless confusion blows through the dead mind's sky
All eyes envying the ever nearing end of time.
This constantly reccuring thread.
This secret sentence meant to reinvent this magic.
It is a morbid mirage.
Murdered marriage
A massacre, unmentionable.  
Mesmerizing sobriety,
Majestically marauding science.  
Mindless moon born madness.
Inner sinner-inner sanctum.
Sheltering some malevolent Mysterium.
This thoughtless thirst for sanctity.
The shapeless shadow wisps which whisper.
Shock of spewing blood against a backdrop of white.
A keenly edged knife ******* grins into milky skin stretched tight.
The shifty sorrow of quick fading light
Deep down dig of fright
Straining: fighting with the last vestiges vanquished
The swallow of sentience, this last candle scarcely alight.
Burial romance.
This slow turned page.
Slow revelation of cumulative age.
Empty vessel volition withering onstage.
Don't weep this ****** burned
This solace we've earned
Good sense long past spurned.
Sadistic disaster our honey and sugar.
Outlined by the end
The smile of evil men.
Sad string stung, star struck spirit spun.
The voice of Us long undone.
Screaming chorus Kingdom come.
Seance chorus all wanting some.
This cracked Kingdom collapses
Each moment which passes
One last squandered synapse and then all falls quiet... at long last.
My lunar goddess
Lunatic
******
Murderess that got it

Sandy Hook sickness perpetrated the most atrocious act against the innocent an individual forged in the
Darkest tangle finally leads to darkness a soulless depravity that strikes at the source that gave him birth
And then at the childhood that he grew to abhor every household in America experienced burning tears
And anguish loss compounded by knowledge of such brutality against the most tender among us no
Other act has created such sacred honor with such scope and magnitude many are the numbers and
Symbols that are a part of our history 911 seal team six but none carries such violation and redemption
As 26 more pure essential element never can be quarried the figures so absolute they are the resolute
Fixed immortal vision that stands beyond the disbelief that rocked us as a people we are possessed and
Changed by their faces we crossed speechless ground were bound and weighted with the heaviest
Burden until we encountered the bands of angels that surrounded them with our mortal eyes we beheld
Their entrance into glory darkness was refuted and light was all and all love conquered hate and malice
And the storm wrought the intangible indestructible peace that was shed abroad in our hearts as
Atonement and an anthem as no other our innocence knows victory and nothing can long subdue it evil
Is changed from its blackest intentions to loves whitest holding with words and touch a knelling savior
With hugs and hands he wiped away fears and tears he smoothed their hair with such tenderness it was
As if it was our collected hands as a people the emotional swell was a mighty breaking that
Surged and raced may this be our comfort of life that found its true footing in life that would
Never end let this be a comfort to us we were beaten and on the ropes but now we are blessed sacred
Power of 26 holds with stunning immovable grace we are invested and blessed with a new unity as a
People we were led down a path of unmentionable horror and sorrow along the way strains of glory
Began a marvelous refrain we were changed from powerless to a metal of uncommon strength for the
Days ahead will be filled with peril and uncertainty but through the best being brought to a shinning
Drawn from the worst circumstance we see and know with new eyes that were before the regular eyes
That only knew failure now we by the testing of fire are truly come out purified and have tasted and
Now there is a new found glint in our eyes evil has unveiled itself but our lives are telling a new
Existence has Happened and we are profoundly changed and are made ready we march with head held
High bolstered and emblazoned my their memory

Will write this to counter ugly in all of its forms can we will change we can reel from effects we
Can go to a better place into the heart of a picture a lady an enchantress beguiling from nothing
More than beauty and innocence a tide pool a living riveting showing one woman but all
Women the alluring tastefulness eyes that cause a gentle storm a face that bestows peace
Undefiled we must attend these wayward places like a cottage in the English country side
Covered in ivy the inner sanctuary is a blend of darkness and shadow the very movement of a
Woman engaging withdrawing it is awe inspiring this royalty is possessed by all females their
DNA reads incomparable wistful smitten with delights obscurity is in dwelled with fabrication
Silk satin a man meets a woman moments later talking to a friend you think he has been to a
Fashion show the truth he has nothing softer more elegant exists her portent is the floating of
Clouds endowed enrobed with the telling witching mist like countenance you find you are
Uprooted you are drifting into throes of unpredictability excitement wafts rolls plunges you into
Paths of exquisite wildness that is anchored in many fathoms of emotion stand at the rail of a
Great ship you have no control it runs fast across great waters you’re illuminated by the lightest
Blue a water made magical by the sun striking it in just the right way swayed you stagger under
This ghostly moon silent weeping grips you what world am I possessed by you have found true
And lovely depths of womanhood no other gift would God give to man than this perfection
Honor it and curse any fool that denies her rightful place she is not chattel or a subjected
Servant she is blessed and all she is and can be will be your guide and unending support if you
Are wise and know who stands at your side even the Holy word says her long hair is her glory
You are never mocked when you praise her you are building the hidden treasure up to another
Level you see her and you tremble not knowing why you have made the queen ready to be
Ushered into to her castle and sit next to you on an earthly throne the resplendent light is
Blinding it burns up all impurities something has to begin with intrinsic value to advance beyond
Its beginning stages if a man finds a virtuous woman he has found great riches and she will add
To his stature without measure just a few thoughts on my favorite subject God bless all women
And to those who eyes are brimmed with tears know they are not allowed so you will be cast
Down but they are valued in heaven greater than diamonds they are the liquid transformation
From paths of poverty to the beholding of unmentionable riches you were built with that
Potential any one acts differently to that respect I respectively lay at their door that they are
Unwise and they are falling into unruliness and shame themselves and the true dream they
were created to be

I look forward to seeing him everyday.

What is this torture?

How do I stop castigating myself
and throwing myself prostrate
on the burning coals
those spitting embers
spider web cracks
spreading like contaminants
foreboding of the epidemic to come
intricate designs carrying grave warnings.

I tremble.

I have never trembled before.

Not in response to the mere
idea
that image in my head of
his arm tenderly around my shoulders
to shelter me from the inevitability of the future
the dancing spectre of his face
lingering in the goose flesh
that breaks out like a cold sweat
when my heart aches
and my mind cries out in anguish
at the terror and sheer immensity of
that crushing longing.

Never have I wanted so wantonly
a wildfire consuming
ravaging every inch of my world
reducing me to a snarling beast
bared teeth
hair standing on edge to lash out
the power of the entire universe
pulsing through my veins.

A mother’s love pales
to the ferocity of my fight.

I have nothing to lose
I have seen the mountaintop
I have seen the destruction
the darkness and storms which
lie ahead for the burning chasm of
pain and beauty and love
that is my very essence
and I must continue
I must go there and know
that I can survive the gale winds
and the pelting rain
slapping my face
with a lace glove
as if that could somehow insulate me
from the sting of your absence
and the looming murky world
that you leave in your wake
expecting my gratitude
for the silt and dust that hangs around me
whose hollow presence
doesn’t keep me warm at night.

I feel my control
slipping through my fingers
the sieve through which my power is filtered
and I am left with only the dregs
why did you have to come here?

Why did I listen to your whisper
to open my eyes and
see
and have your face be the first
image haloed in the sun’s glorious offering
of light
bathing my retina in the warm liquid matrix?

How long could I have held onto hope
that two parallel lines
could one day diverge from their path
their arrow-straight shot to infinity
and converge
to know that touch for even a fraction of
a femtosecond?

How long will I continue my self deception?
To listen to the dulcet tones of that uninhibited
purr in the back of my mind
which exists outside of knowledge and logic
inhabiting the world of unmentionable desire
a longing that I suppress
a wanting that I can never trust.

Crumbling facades and fading frescos
are all that lie ahead
as time’s march crushes all dreams
under its steel-toed boot
stealing everything away from me
until I subsist on arid dust
and musty, time-worn clocks.

Each button
Of the elevator
Is lamented with the misers
Of religions rejects

To see the
Face of a man
Forgotten in time is
To look in the mirror
Every waking morning alive
And well until you are no longer

The centipede creeps
Like rain wet fingers in the
In the depths of a mournful jungle,
Swearing that the good times are ahead
Of them if they can just survive this summertime

Entranced, we mention
Gods but in our
Dreams only can
Imagine ourselves

Freud said
Something like that

But he's dead
Long gone
Living in books
To be:

Misinterpreted
Misspelled
Misused &
Manufactured

For future generations
Of blood thirsty swine
Wiping their ***** with
Hundred dollar bills and
Ingesting 50 cent pieces
Just for the hell of it

When the night finally falls
And love subliminally dies
The circus will stay open &
The ferris wheel will continue
To spin and spin and spin

I like the
Way you
Brush your
Hair after the
Nightingale sings

I like the
Way you
Say you
Never hated
Until
You
Met me

I like the
Way you
Make up things
That are
Seemingly true

But when the
Do needs to be done
The only way
You act
Is Blue

And the separation
Of ourselves
Is left
To the open road

The naked toad
The unmentionable node
God's broken big toe

"The Devil made me stub it,"
The friar said to  brother John, "We got
To get out of here, we don't
Have very long."

Press my linens with
The soft ****** hands of angels
Let me pray for my own sins
My own low down ***** miseries

As we walk to the top of the hill
We think we are entering the right realm
There are secrets in the stones
In the rivers
Within the leaves and the branches
Of every living tree

Listen

Hear
And learn

To believe

"Truly you love me?" she whispered beneath the soft sound of his kisses which started near the sharp edge of her hip bones working slowly up, tracing every inch of every slender curve until his mouth met the softness of her neck and the whiskers of his beard tickled her slightly and caused her to tremble and her toes to curl. She smiled and bit lightly on her bottom lip.

"What makes you so sure," he inquired thru a mischievous grin. He could feel the warmth of her skin touching his and in this moment he knew that he loved her and only her deeply but he did not want to say so just yet and played coyly with his lips on the nape of her neck and entangled his fingers in the golden blonde strands of her hair, pulling just enough so that she arched her back and ****** her ******* into the hardness of his chest.

"It's in the way that your mouth moves across me."

"Perhaps my mouth is only hungry?"

"Perhaps. But then how do you explain your hands?"

"They have a mind of their own."

"A wonderful mind it is."

She ached for his mouth to be on hers, to feel the course hairs of his beard on the softness of her cheeks, for the hard lines of his hands to cup her ******* and squeeze her ****, for him to be the only moment she would ever have. She wiggled out beneath his force and in doing so he lay supine with her on top. Her hair was hanging down like a curtain over his face so that all he could see was her icy blue eyes and beautiful red lips. His hands moved across the smooth tan skin of her back until she grabbed his arms and traced them with her hands up to his, ensnared their fingers, and pinned his arms above his head.

"You're my prisoner now."

"You are my warden?"

"I am."

"My crime?"

"So cruel, it is unmentionable."

"I'm innocent. I swear." He said unbelievingly.

"We are all innocent in our own wicked ways."

"You are not innocent."

"No, I am the devil and I've come for your soul," she laughed.

He lunged his face forward to meet her lips but she pulled away, smiling.

"You haven't served your time yet."

Her tongue was tracing the canines of her teeth and there was a growl to her voice that made her seem like a wild beast and this drove him insane on the inside. He feigned struggling to lift his arms up away from her pinning him down but liked that she was on top of him and did so only in play.

"Don't I get time served for being good?"

"Yes. But I don't want you to be good."

"But I am an angel."

"Your halo is held up by horns."

He tired of their banter and raised his arms and flipped her over on to her backside and lay on top of her once more. The sheets on the bed were now completely tangled around their bodies so that they had cocooned themselves and were pressed very tightly together. His mouth met her mouth and they shared a long kiss that awakened both the insides and the outsides of their bodies.

His eyes met hers and her lips smiled and her face creased beautifully.

"Truly, you are the only one I love."

This debilitating cynicism leaves me throwing fists,
blindly, unkindly I deliberately hide so that you cant find me.

Unmentionable, the seeking of attention that we require,
and I impede my own desires with a silent fear of fire.

Hold me higher than your loved ones,
mask my bad intentions.
I wish I was as pure as my lustless suggestions.

You try to fall, I’ll hold you back.
I surround  myself with your artifacts.
My mind wanders with a sense of urgency.
I watched you fade away from me.

I discreetly try to imbibe the origins of your resentment.
Above me you reside as I strive for mere acceptance.

Escaping dignity, I ruined the bridges I built,
and bruised by your excuses I melancholicly  wilt,
condemned by a guilt that I can’t abandon, My love  for you is more than a fandom.

I’ve derobed your more times with my eyes than you have with your paws,
Our time together was macabre, Showing all of our flaws.

ya I'm wondering searching for something I can't find
and I'm just pondering wondering were is my mind
yes I see a beam of light that'll surely mesmerize
ya in day and night taking this **** world by surprise
and the new moon in her eyes glistening the night sky
yes its no surprise life can't truly be analysed
well some dwell in it, some just don't want it anymore
just break free deception, specimen of perfection
yet I know what it was for, lost it, find its lament
this pale fragments of porcelain skin fall to the floor
and drift away into the wind to be seen nevermore
and the circumstance of this romance for life is
it can cut like a knife, lift to unmentionable heights

you take a long stroll in the maze of a twisted mind
oh how they quandaried on how it would unfurl in time
so spacious liviacious an endless strain on the mind
oh I really wonder will it rebuilt it self in time
yet I'm just pondering asking the world why so many lies
see there's a crack of light through this dismal dark night sky
oh how the fire dances in her eyes, as my mind now  fries
the new moon in the night sky glistening in her eyes
we say your goodbyes to what you always thought it would be
so sad to see modesty might be the end of me
oh it may just be the end of me this time, nothing' inside
how some dwell in it, some just want to live delusions
my conclusions a dillusion with no solution

To be honest,
I cannot say I miss your crocodile smile
Or the way your breath creeped down my neck
And gave me goosebumps.
I could not decide if they were out of excitement
Or out of pure fear.

You took a walk with me,
Said all we'd do was talk.
Or maybe kiss.
You lied.

We ended up in a staircase.
"I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable"
You said with a flicker in your eye.
Yet part of me knew you were being deceptive.

That doesn't matter.

I told you from the start that I did not want to sleep with you,
And yet you tried to pry it out of me.
I still would not let you go that far,
But you had me preform other unmentionable acts with you.
I could not escape if I wanted to.
The texts, the grabbing, the coercing, the mean spirited teasing.
It was Hell from the first hello.

Two friends of mine had died the week before,
I should have known when you became so concerned with my well-being,
That something was terribly wrong.
You never held stock in me before.

We have not spoken since,
Yet, you have the nerve to text me
You tell me you're sorry
That you were a ****.
I say, you were a **** and a half.

I know this was another scheme to get your way with me,
And frankly,
I don't miss our "friendship" anyways.
Not even a little bit.

No one knows what really happened.
They called me a ****, a *****, a *****.
All they know is that we did stuff,
And I told you off
When you would not stop bothering me about *******.
Then you went after my emotionally unstable friend,
And she was not so lucky and strong as to tell you
"No."

We both lost friends that day.

To the girl in the hallway of my high school
Who called me a *****.
Please, dear
Tame your venomous tongue.
If you want me to "act like a lady"
Why don't you talk like one?
By your own standards, of course.
Your words are spikes that are omitted from your spit
Can I spit them back at you?
Then again,
I guess that would only do some good
If I cared enough.
You see,
The definition of a ***** is
A derogatory term for a *******.
Please educate yourself
As I am not a *** worker
No, I do not get paid to be an object for men
As I have only even slept with one
As I have only even done anything consensual with one man
And no man has pleased me since.
Apparently I tempt them by saying
"I'd like to see you try"
Even though I meant it in the most sarcastic way possible.
And oh, do they try
Many even disguise satisfying themselves
As attempts to satisfy me.
But once the lights come back on
I'm not quite done with the last man I spent the night with
But he's already out the door.
His skin still lingers like fog in my mind
And in the corridor where we did unmentionable things.
I feel as slimy as ever
But it was stupid to sleep in our clothes anyway.
Because things went further than I wished.
I pull a blanket over my shivering body
It has been a cold autumn thus far.
And I'm sure my mom was worried sick
But she slept that illness right off.
Boys will be boys, she says
And when I try to explain what happened that night
How my memories are a little bit shifty
My credibility seems to fade as his ghost did.
Instead of questioning what happened that night
I am answering to questions like
"Well, what were you wearing?"
"Did you lead him on?"
Why, of course I did
Because everything I do in this ******* society is "leading him on"
If I blink, smile, wave, walk toward him, have confidence
I am suddenly opening up my body like a book to be examined and gawked at
Suddenly, I abandon my personhood by doing any of these things
And leave myself as a thing to have *** with
But because I know the consequences of being a woman and existing
I am still some two-dollar *******
Just for being a woman who has consensual ***
Just for being a woman who does not want you poking her bruises and revealing her scars
After all, they are not fully healed.
Just for being a woman who wears low-cut shirts and tight dresses
Even though I am not a size two.
Just for being a woman who believes that we, as women, should be able to make choices about our own bodies.
Just for being a woman.

I know you said to try and not make any more points... But I can't just sit idly by while excellent points are ignored and disregarded in favor of illusions.

You can either choose to embrace and admire my intellect... Or you can attempt to belittle and censor it. The way my mind works is a little different than most, and that shouldn't be a threat to you. It should be an asset.

I'm sure I can be frustrating to deal with because I have yet to tame my ego and temper entirely, but those flaws have been brought to my attention.

I'm only 28, so I am fairly confident that there's still hope for a full recovery. It took you until you were 40 to make any real corrections in your behavior.

I was there with you from 29 until the present time... So I would find it a bit ironic if you expected perfection from me at 28.

Especially when I feel like I'm leaps and bounds ahead of most people my age, or even your age, when it comes to being self aware, open hearted and willing to change.

All I need is love and affection. I've been bullied and rejected and ignored by both of my parents. The only way I know how to react is by assuming that their mistreatment is justified... And to accept it with a sorrowful, silent dignity.

Its not a far cry from my own fears about myself anyhow. I've always been the awkward misfit daughter of a slovenly, ignorant nutcase. If that's enough to make me question my own value and self worth.

It doesn't take much for someone that I trust to convince me that I don't have any anyhow.

What I need from a relationship is someone who understands those things, and is willing to extend their affections to me unconditionally.

If that's too much for you, then I understand. Its hard to show love when you've never been taught it. Believe me, I know.

But I also know that honesty, sincerity and a compassionate heart can solve all of life's issues. 

As long as I resonate with that truth, I know that the Universe must respond to it.

A love as intense as mine; A spirit as genuinely captivated by wonder; Inspired by nature and comforted by our inherent divinity...

Cannot... Nay, WILL NOT be left wanting. Of that I'm sure.

I hope you can put down your defenses long enough to see that we are on the same team.

Pride is a silly thing to cling to when there are broken hearts and unmentionable sufferings to address in our own lives and families.

What does a man gain from the glorified conquests of his ego if, in the end, he is to suffer the loss of his own soul?

I love you. That's all I can say. Although I will probably never send you a copy of this letter... I somehow feel better nonetheless. I wish you could hold me one last time.