Irritable Self

The words are tight in my chest today. Tight from holding them in as I survive another holiday. Another attack of thoughts and color. Sound that overwhelms and makes you grind your teeth at others. No one in particular. Grinding at all who walk by. All who ask why. All who are all. All including myself. I grind my teeth at myself the most. Continuous grit of sounds deep in the eardrum. I fling them from my mind now in tantrums of tingly emotion. I exhale and  ask to have peace with my irritable self today.

Image

Mud

Let us not loose our minds.

Let us know we are the stars children, created to dance in the colors we choose to flail about.

Let us not let our eyes roll back in ecstasy only alone in the room of closet.

Let us release and love the outburst that is us.

Let it be more colorful than beige.

Bland.

All color taken out.

Let it sear the skin and make all things seem inevitable.

Let the pleasure dry the mouth and moisten the hips.

Allowing the swerve of the curve of your lip to rest on the knee.

Tickle the insides of me.

Let us not loose our minds in the desert of doubt the plantation more raped than pleasured.

Let us breathe in the sweet smell of delicate encounters chipped by desire.

Let us not reflect like glass yet soak up like earth.

Allowing the moisture to turn us to mud.

Feet swollen with ache in fun.

Ache in romance.

Ache in acting.

Ache in painting.

Ache in laughter.

No ache in heart. Leave ache of heart in the land of bland.

Give in.

Give stand and. . . well. . . dance.