sip SIP inhalEEeeexhale
Where are the whispers that used to fill the inside of veins, “you want more”.
Give me lessssssssssss ons.
Give me lessons?
Give me freedoms.
Give me sleep.
Give me guiltless memories.
Give me kind interactions and a pillow of done enough.
Give me…nothing…no worth.
Give me jokes in face.
Your moms face.
Your moms face burnt with fire the bombs left her.
Left her an eye to give back to the soldier that saved her life…but he took that eye.
Why aren’t we laughing?
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
I take myself out of the lush grass
to the land of tight muscles,
tight jaws creaking into the night.
I loose my form.
I take on the shape of another and I ask 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.
You and I.
You are me,
I take you in my arms,
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.
It is why we are empty when we figure
or believe we have figured
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.
times in repetitive forms of what but of course,
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,
Take it in happy like wine
Take it in the form of her parted lips
She deserves this.
The kiss that will end all other kisses.
The kiss that makes her swivel her hips and take a whiff
exhaled by lover .
Left with no doubt of meaning.
good for you.
better for you.
Take the words given in the ache of a midnight
Take the information I give you.
Open her insides.
She waits. . .
she needs. . .
hair tangled hands to head to heat.
Meet and greet taking form of
holding down flesh of lover
taste of tongue savored.
Take these words in your mind and give her your lusting.
“You need to remember you are strong. You’re unstoppable when your strong.”
She tells me this while she sits in her own soft sadness.
We are the same. Craving love and attention, we have starved for long enough.
The nuclear family was not the support beams they were cracked up to be.
In fact the cracks were huge and she slipped through them.
Thats how we found each other.
I still have not healed fully from the chaos that was the co-dependacy and I feel her want to pull me back in and yet at the same time it is the safeness I have yearned for.
The home of, “All things are possible.”
Don’t tell me I need you…
No answers are needed…
Only tell me I am doing it already.
I am able and strong.
I am great at doing this for others…now me…
They are nothing with me and everything with themselves.
I need this as well.
Turn to the ones living the dream.
She has to remember.
I have to remember.
This time…I am here for her.
Who will tell me?
No One. I have to tell myself.
I tell myself I am strong enough, thank you for the idea.
You, strong enough too.
Strong enough to let the world into the private warmth and chaos that is me.
Comfort while icily looking forward.
Crave the intensity of love and not the ambition.
Get the hell up and dance.
Bear the soul that is deep as the ocean, the world is watching and in need.
All you envision is all that was given to you by the Universe, for the benefit of the Universe.
Sanity feeling like insanity.
Enlightenment feeling like darkness.
The tingle begins. It begins with in her grasping. . . HER.
You are the super human you have been envisioning.
Intense is the leader, hold your hand and let you guide you.
The soul is within not out, so again. . . Dance. hands high, voice just as big.
Take it all on, it was all meant for you…
Happiness is what I speak of damn it!
Enlightened with music, art, sight and sound. Take all on and be all.
For all is nothing. And nothing is simple right?
No choice. It was what she was born to do.
I am just fine. No aches at all thank you… good day.
You will not come to my dreams and torment me,make me hate me,take me sexually.
Give me remorse in the color of lusting after you, while the groan you carry on your lips is as deep as a valley.
Non-penetrable by genuine caring.
You will not come to my dreams in the form of the ultimate love, the one I cannot win.
Delving into me.
Then leaving me.
Not leaving me in the sheets for that would be welcomed but leaving me in understanding .
Understanding the lust.
Understanding the artist.
Understanding the creative process and the yearning for more.
You will not come to me in my fucking dreams and then wake me to the idea of not good enough.
Your ass crippled from the life you chose to take place of your genuine questioning.
Glittered in the saliva of your childrens conquests while the chair you sit in folds in from the weight.
The blue that sparkles in the eyes of you will not take the bad taste you have left in my mouth out.
You serve no purpose but to watch the show go on and detest the actors risking their sanity to bring you reality.
Normal you will stay.
of all you didn’t try in order to cleanly survive.
This day has brought her many thoughts of many times she was many different people.
I wonder why she has chosen to settle into this one? And why as I say settle I feel the rebellious nature of her rise and deny having ‘become’ anything accept a great woman.
A tried and true ‘Liver’.
I take it in, all of it, in my own way. My way that is nothing real at the moment accept to just be.
Come to me in this sunlight you allow to exist with the vast amounts of you, you bring.
She will grapple with the idea of leaving a tremendous ache behind. In the grieving I will find myself.
Find my love of life again.
Looking for the pleasure in the glasses of ale has found you nothing but a thick depression. The pleasure of her is gone.
Yet she finds comfort in that. I find comfort in the tiredness they have settled into.
The grand love of living life. The life, which no matter how poetically you put it, is tormented with harsh realizations of our eternal connected loneliness.
I was not supposed to be happy.
I was not supposed to become a writer, a musician, a great mother.
I was supposed to become nothing.
Instead . . .
I grow and I see others growing.
I know nothing of this God guy and I know nothing of the lack there of.
Backward is forward.
She sees magic.
I see growth born out of art, born out of creativity.
I see destruction born out of the same creative womb.
I have no answers.
I have no solutions.
I have moments.
I have stories.
I have emotions and colors to fling as I work through the dark, bright tinge of what life brings to me.
As I think, I change my reality.
Taking on different words of me.
Different outlooks for this time on this earth. I am free, always to change my reality of me.
I care not what you think of me. I have no control over your reality.
Even when I think I do, you can only see me how you see you.
I know how I see me in all things therefore any hate is me hating what I see. What I am. What I fear. What I give energy to.
Now she gives energy to travel.
I need and ask for travel.
Big and little travel.
Pictures and different thicknesses of oxygen.
“Give me stars and tears!” she cries.
No one will be able to take in how I will heal. I now know I am the warrior
She will come and she will glide around and she will worry and I will take in the stars, alone.
In depth I will take them in, alone . . . alone is good. . . alone is preferred. . . alone is a given. . .
As I go back to the land I was born on, the land I was raped on, the land many have cried and died on .
The summer brings the West and I alone will grieve and heal .
Give us growth.
The wounds were many, but nothing she couldn’t bare.
She knew others that had it worse.
She used to read old news paper articles on abuse cases.
One story she remembers particularly well.
A young boy 3 or 4 was put in a closet night after night. Arms tied in a shirt and hung in the closet by a hanger.
When the parents needed to get a little more aggression out they would pull out his teeth and finger nails.
The whipping child soon met a horrible, painful end. As you can only run from imagining.
And although she cried, a part of her felt relieved.
Relieved to know others had it worse than her. It made her feel as if she could somehow continue on.
As if someone else’s torture lubricated her cracked existence.
She acted out due to her abuses. Same as any other marked child. Acting out to figure out. . .
Her attention span fails her as she gets older.
She tends to ‘forget’ to let herself ravage the old memories.
So tonight she smokes more herb… and forgets to forget to let herself get anything out.
Inhale. . . Shhhhh…Let it out.
Exhale. . . Shhhhhh…get it out.
Heal thy self.
She uses everything. She hates and hurts and loves and weeps all at the same time.
She dresses in black and morns the loss of her true love. . . Herself.
Once in a room painted purple she plummets into the bleak beige world of self delusion. All things hurting stem from her, for her. Even unleashing on others. She gripes at the scorn and tears at the heart of home. Nothing sacred and no pleasure does she find in such mental tattering.
Simply raised this way. Not born this way. Raised this way.
Today she woke with her hair in knots and her stomach playing catch up with her running brain. Coughing she stumbled upon a sleeping child. . . the child was her. . . twitching about in her sleep she was not. So, mistaken, it could not be her.
For she, as a child, was not friends with the sand man. Nor any man. All they wanted from her was the redemption of their orgasm in her tight twat and budding tits.
Another story for another day the point being. . . this child sleeping was not her. It was the children about her whom she cared for that were sleeping. Peaceful and dreaming.
Waking annoyed with the every day twitches of all living things due to their comforts. She, relating to everything and yet finding no one to relate to her. She, nurtures the others.
Her nurturing comes with a bite though. A hurt so deep it will strike if you are tearing at any part of who she is. Or what she is trying to create. She will rear up and smack the taste out of your mouth. Disrespect she takes none of and yet she can spit it out in an instant. No one comparing to her as she yells, no one comparing to you. Selfishly calling you selfish. But she wants health. She aches for it in fact, it is the very reason she acts out. Her perfectionism of balance makes her unstable. And yet her awareness makes her the most stable person on this planet.
Today she uses everyone and everything to figure out what is the reality of the realities? Let it linger on her own thoughts, she knows what you would think. You have spewed same as she has flung it back with her own venom added. This is about her. She . She using she to relate to we.
Now. . . breathe.