My heart screams. A lack of creativity. The brainstorm is a storm inside my head. Outside it lingers and quickly is dead. I wish I could write the words to move your mind and heart. Unfortunately as it is… I just don’t know how to start.
i worry about everything. i worry that i’m not going to become anything. i worry that i’m running out of time. i worry that i don’t participate enough, that my friends don’t really like me, that i’m too crazy, that i’m not crazy enough, that i’m too fat, that i’ll never change, that everything will change, that i’ll never get a job i love, that my boy only loves me as long as there’s no one else to love. i worry that my sisters don’t miss me, that my father doesn’t think of me, that my mother will try and be my friend again, that my grandmother will forget why she loves me, that my aunt will lose contact. i worry that money will always be be a problem, that money is too important, that happiness isn’t important enough, that people don’t live for themselves, that i’ll never live for myself. i worry that i spend too much time worrying about all these things rather than either resolving them or moving beyond. there is so much beyond. why can’t i just move?
The words have lost me.
Or I have lost the words.
Things of meaning that so easily would come to me,
at a time when everything was so much bigger than it was.
Mature now.
Happy now.
But lingering on a memory…
Of movement, spiritual movement…
a transcendent experience…
that had little to do with gods
and everything to do with being human and alive.
Connected.
To everything.
I know it more so now, but feel it less.
The electricity between me and the world is dull.
My wires are frayed.
Did part of me shut down?
Or am I just rebooting?
The words.
I can’t find the words.
The words can’t find me.
crash boom bang mother fucker.
i’m sick of the struggle, of the fight, of the anger.
you want to argue, bring it on but it is not the way
we make this better. i need you, i need you to stay,
i need you to stay the fuck away. how about that?
another bourbon, another tequila, another nameless
bed warmer. you want a problem? i got a problem. i
got your problem right here. look at this face, because
it is going to cause you a world of hurt… just stay away.
I keep you locked away in a box
a vessel for the dead
so that you cannot escape
and invade my life.
But lately you’ve been slipping
through the cracks,
or ‘round the hinges,
or past the keyhole,
and taking over my thoughts.
You push your way out,
and push your way in,
Just like you always do,
just like you always did.
I check that box all the time
to make sure you are still
incarcerated,
but bits and pieces of you keep
fleeing your little coffin
and entering the land of the
living
where you do not belong.
(JLP)
today, i reinvent myself. tomorrow, who knows.
Smut and Cherries
It’s a hot summer day and the air tastes of fire and nectar. I’m somebody’s mirage as soon as I hit the blacktop, disjointed and out-of-focus. A human heat-haze.
I staggered the other day, feeling as hot and dazzled and hungry as a flame, into the air-conditioned bright-lit supermarket and felt the gloriously AC’ed air bustle around me like some coolly efficient, utterly sterile nurse, seeing to my flushed skin and sore feet.
There were cherries, a great wide shallow steel bowl of them. The metal felt like ice on my wrist as I reached in and snagged a single gleaming cherry by the stem. Black-red it was, and perfectly ripe, just firm enough that the slight give of the skin seemed an insinuation, an invitation.
It was cool on my lips and it split and burst between my teeth like the sudden comprehension of a truly erotic innuendo. It was rich as velvet, bright as sunlight and cool as night, decadent as silk drawn across bare skin and with that same tart edge of almost-pain. My eyes slid closed and I made a sound of pure, but not quite innocent, pleasure.
Pretty much downhill from there. I was almost embarassed after that, in public, to lick the juice from my lips because it had felt like a kiss, nuances of flavor nudging themselves into secret places where some primal need made room for them. I thought, helplessly, of sweaty skin and the always-shocking intimacy of hands under clothing. I thought of turning to some stranger with this sweet, perfect lust staining my lips and offering them to be licked.
I thought of summer fucking, all wet and heat and sweat and exhibitionistic pleasure of feeling a cool breeze highlight everything your lover sees. Thought that the burst of pleasure of a hot wet mouth closing over a nipple felt very much like the way that cherry had exploded against my tougne.
Thought, God damn, you touch me I’ll burst like that, I’ll get into you and under you and take your cock into me like the first taste of a summer cherry and we’ll fuck until we’re both consumed.
I spat the pit into the garbage can provided and grabbed a handful to eat while I did my shopping. When I changed for work, I realized I’d gotten as juicy as the fruit I’d been eating. I touched myself, purred, and smiled a secret smile that stayed all day.
~ KIssedBySadness
my entire body aches. from my toenails to the tips of my hair. i don’t know how much longer i can do this.
A note from the drowning...
I feel like sinking. Drowning in the words I am choking on in that back of my throat. My tear ducts scream threats to let lose, burning behind lids when closed tight. My accusations are pointless, for we are strangers and you owe me nothing. It isn’t your fault… you didn’t know… I eagerly gave a part of myself to you and you let it die. Let it down. I’m just trying to reach out, to make a connection… but desperate pleas sound so much like breaking bubbles.
All I want is a lifesaver.
All I want is for someone to care.
I felt just like radio static.
The stars came out indoors- constellations projected on the ceiling- so we danced under red lights spread thick by the artificial fog while Orion and the Big Dipper and the Great Square of Pegasus faded in and out of sight.
The floor, it was literally bending under our weight, and nothing but our sweaty bodies and beating hearts existed in the corners of that dark and pulsing room.
No. Nothing.
