Carnal Caretaker

I’ve always had a carnal appetite

The indulgent kind

Of molten lava

Cake and irrationally strong

Protection.

My inside often

Volley with volatile vexation

To emancipate the masculinity

Of this savagery.

Relating more to the simple

Set of stress induced

Recession

Found more commonly

In animals,

Deference  clings to their boundaries

but wonder if  a more careful

caretaker could have calmed the

cautiously unkempt being.

Development followed drunken

Murmurings, sickly sweet in singles

And festering fury in folds.

Natural than

The quick slam of a door

With automatic hinges,

The variety of which

Accidentally startles,

And secludes.

Overwhelming femininity

Bursts occassionally,

Not trained to pertain

Then

To reason.

This appetite never remembers

When it is quenched,

For memory holds long

Onto scarcity

With teeth.

 

Death on your Tongue

I’ve been thinking about death

A lot

Lately

The aftertaste

And the slippery sensation

Of a life through fingers

Whats claimed

in an ending.

Its profound

But its not.

Simple equations

Of action

and reaction

Care taken

and odds managed,

What was the feeling of you?

Thats what I think

about most

Of all

A selfish kind of

desire

To be

that

person

Who is

missed

Who lived

big

Through small ways

An energy

That continues

to vibrate

In the people you

Shared air with

Once

Or more than

Once.

Instead of just

fading

Out.

Meaningless.

Its selfish.

And yet,

Its shaping a quieter

Formation

Of space

Inside my every

interaction.

I bring death with me

Like a box of sweet mints

A way to cope

With the souring of

What I have to

Swallow

Before I get there.

Intimate failures

Most people think
Self righteousness keeps me company
In the cold.
But they don’t understand how bitter it tastes, like the sourness of anxiety and forebode.
It is believed I have swallowed these pills from the hands of strangers,
But how strange it is to recognize intimately the hands they actually come from.
They cannot be swallowed with anything but cold,
Nor do they move through my system swiftly.
Isolationist propaganda is hung from the support beams,
And the quiet reveals only the echo chamber.
Thoughts clammering for acceptance in a way that is not possible,
Solutions begging for urgency that is not feasible.
Tensions brewing in a way that is not reversible, but perhaps transformative.
A faint outline draws on the tenancity of strength and softness.
How to bend with breaking, even when delicacy sounds every alarm.
And is forgiveness possible if only through the breath in the lungs it reverbates first?
Terrible, giant, uncomfortable necessary
Thoughts.
Being an old soul and understanding how to manifest its existence..
Always a test worth failing.
Because thats how you learn you can’t succeed.
Its not the sort of thing you can ever win.
Better is the best score.

A Witness to Defeat

She says

“You seem defeated lately.”

And primarily,

the only response to offer

Is a lift of the chin,

feeling caught.

 

Quietly..

“What?”

A placeholder,

Time to chew,

Surprise.

 

Again,

 

“ You seem defeated lately.”

Eyes are gentle around the edges.

Calm.

 

Weight shifts back

in reflection

Blood pauses at hips

In contemplation;

And thats when

 

Struggle meets realization:

Steps out of the dark

Mornings

it has wanted to

Lay in forever.

 

Begins to fold

The unwashed laundry

On the bed.

Tries to tidy the creases.

And realizes,

 

It has

been seen.  

 

Its personal. 2/22/18

“Taken for Granted”
A one clit
Nipple twist
Into submission
Or volition
A fight for space.
Nuerons misfiring
And ironing
Out
All common sense
Sledgehammers
In the hands of Builders
Infastructure
Destroyed?
Or remodeled?
Tired of wondering
Bring 4th of July
To a winter picnic
Let Vitamin D
Deficiencies
And
Other
Deficiencies
Spark and ignite
Rainstorms
Seat belt warnings
Traction control
Turned off
Feelings get soft
When overly exposed
To air
Airing out
Overdue apparitions
Of swallowed mediocracy
Cacophony
Of noses sniffling,
Unable to determine
The scent of
Danger
Anymore.
Dogs can smell thousands
Of times
Better
Than we can.
And they can
Love that
Way
Too.
So whose bite hurts more?
Its personal.

Surrender in Process

Hands still shaking from

the way you fucked me,

I sit solemn,

staring across the room

at a platter

of Christmas cookies.

Inadequacy breathes down my neck,

Reflecting how

I faltered with rules

and temptations

Out of sync in sensation

Gagged by an inability

to express how I feel.

I kept it in, mouth shut,

But my body let it out

Bloody nose,

orgasmic flow,

tears falling

hot,

and unrelenting.

My body has learned to surrender,

While my mind has not.

It only accepts that sometimes

my body is weak.

And I benefit from it.

I’m cold,

but the heat is on,

I have words,

but you are gone.

The pillows, the blankets,

my fingers-

they smell like you.

But this poem

is for me.

 

 

Thanks to the person with whom I able to figure out these kinks in my own time, and my own way.. No pun intended. Okay, maybe a slight pun.. ❤