Smoother than me

ooo your so much cooler than me

older than dirt and schooled more than me

oh baby you sure do look hotter than me

can hold up that top a lot higher than me

mmmm honey you sure are taller than me

take in your doubt and hold on longer than me

oh dear you sure are smoother than me

only speak how the nights dark is brighter than me

but ooooo love you sure ain’t wiser than me

for all the dark hot grit

ain’tgonna get you shit

for you’ll still end up 6 feet in the dirt

lookin ugly as sin

won’t matter what you win

cuz you gonna die like alls worth

just

like

me

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Choosing

She’d never seen the sidewalk look so wet and grey before.

She knows this is not possible but what is it about pain that makes everything stick out.Why do the tears hurt so heavy in her stomach. Will it end? It does. She’s seen movies. It does…maybe she doesn’t want it to. She hasn’t felt at all for years. Robotic love now dismantled. But even metal has passion and memories. How to rip that apart. But the heat was too angry and the cooling is necessary. The tear will cool. Or so she tries to believe…

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Mother of All Depression

I can’t stand these kids don’t they see

My bones marinated in depression, brittle

Tired

Beaten by the memories I

can no longer tell them like I used

to when their world was in my womb

safe in darkness only then

did I love them before they needed

me, and pulled at my limbs in the ownership

only then did I picture chains in

their little hands tugging at metal attached

to my limbs dislocating, tearing

pieces off I cant take another beating I need,

air damn it doesn’t anyone see I’m

bleeding on the inside from the

lashes of my own lost childhood I know not

how to give one to the children of my

own making if only they would see my bones

breaking

Image

Yes?

You think of me again

yes?

You wonder if the reality was warm

Yes?

And it was but

God

it is so much richer now

in distance

Let us be lovers of words and watch each other

grow.

You are whispered on my lips

and

hips

as well.

Thank you far off lover.

lets write and sing drastic songs sent from afar

but close.

rodoor

Thank You Disaster

Image

I look at him

eyes are heavy

his eyes are light

I remember fixing him and the way he alcoholically

pissed on the bed I also remember

how hard he held me pressed in groaning the floor I melted

I remember how colors never seemed the same I thank him

for his deep blue

a bit spicy beyond the concerns of others

but my tingles thank you

My memories that quicken the heart

thank you

thank you

disaster for coming and staying not long

Death of Taurus.

Death of Taurus.

The death of the depth.
It’s blood for the purpose of annual celebration.
It is killed because it is strong.
Killed because it is beautiful and untouchable.
So marvelous is the bull that the other creatures kill it to show how amazing they themselves are.
They worship the kill.
They worship it’s beauty.
They worship it’s death.
As I am Taurus watch me bleed.
See who rose by stabbing me. . .

Period Piece Poetics

Photo on 2013-02-14 at 21.51 #2

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence.

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence when so many others bleed.

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence when so many others bleed like me…

“It’s a damn shame.”

I say to myself in a way so no one else will hear me.

“It’s a pain.”

I proclaim as I can’t rest today when my insides are pulsing with moon.

All the world born from our womb.

Yet we are silenced with the claiming that to be treated equal I must pretend

to be the same.

Pretend

every month

again

pretend.

Pretend I do not see nor let anyone else see…I bleed.

It’s a shame I must bleed in silence when it brings me to awareness with all senses flaring as I, woman, embrace my place in the Universe’s cycle.

My place in the visual connectedness of me to Universe through season’s of blood which bring forth life.

Beautiful blood held close in the womb emptied to feel again, begin again, heal again…

Damn shame I am meant to keep this magic to myself.

For I am medicine woman.

For I am woman.

We take our stance to heal the place of the her.

I taste her blood and give thanks for it’s existence.

Give thanks to the monthly sacrifice of self and time and comfort for life to exist.

I hold her blood.

I hold my blood.

I hold alls blood.

I give thanks for it and it’s pained keeper.

“Thank you for this taste of life again.”

She circles through.

Each time I taste her.

Each time I thank her,

each time for each one.

Each time for me.

It’s a shame to be alone in all this lovely bleeding. When so many bleed and have bled…

just

like

we.

Photo on 2013-02-14 at 21.52 #2

Another hat to wear.

IMG_4034I dance with the molecules surrounding me.

As  vibrations from the speakers toss my insides

into a tingle.

I take it with ease until she enters…

I take it up a notch to the surface of reality

that must exist for lovers to not itch

like squirrels.

I take myself out of the lush grass

to the land of tight muscles,

tight jaws creaking into the night.

So tight

I loose my form.

I take on the shape of another and I ask why.

Why?

Why, when it was me the whole time?

The one with the power

to change at the drop of a hat.

To find another

hat to wear.

Take myself for granted no longer.

Lets dance.

You and I.

You are me,

I take you in my arms,

ultimate lover.

The one who has sold me on the story.

The one that has sold me on the relating of nothing

to everyone who relates to nothing.

Why did the stars form we know not.

It matters not.

Knowing the answer can do nothing but free the soul from questioning.

Yet questioning is what we hunger for.

It is the ultimate desire.

We crave

not knowing.

It is why we are empty when we figure

or believe we have figured

something out.

We need the unknown in order to feel alive.

In order to not die with addiction.

Addiction forming when the brain is bored in knowing.

The surrounding humans unable to handle

such awesomeness that can escape from one dream.

Unable to handle it enough to

dream for themselves.

Let it let it let it be.

Say it

one

two

three

times in repetitive forms of what but of course,

nothing.

Everything is nothing and nothing is in all things.

All created equal.

For all things are made out of the nothing of everything. . . I soak.

Dance with me,

me.

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