Drowning in fires, 

swimming your storms 

the kneel-to 

bruising my bones.

Longing, wanton, needy 

for hopeless devotion 

that pierces my soul 

with tangled kisses 

on sweet lips 

that bloom nectar 

and honey.

Kiss me there.

                   -glassy-eyedgirl 

Asking for too much

Intimacy transcends the physical. Anyone can love your body, that’s easy.   I’m waiting for the man that will love my quiet, and my loud. That will kiss my forehead when I cry and hold me when I tremble in fear. Someone that understands I am not weak, but knows my soul gets weary. He will call me on my bullshit and laugh at my ridiculous. And sit with me on my darkest nights, holding my hands, not fearing the depths of my emotions. I need him to crave my mind, my psycho and my childish ways like it’s the air he breathes. 

I don’t ask for much, and still sometimes I ask for too much. But I will always give all of me without him ever having to ask for more.

And when his touch sparks flames across my body, he will drown in the fire of my lust. It will be gentle and violent and he will never crave another love.

Ink

I miss the way the ink never dried 
and how the words never fell short 

Words fail me now

the pages are brittle 

from tear blotted ink 

My voice cracks

when I speak your name 

And how I wish my tears 

were hidden by rain

Clouds fill my sky 

And grey banishes 

my moon

My heart is cold

my blood is ruined

You were a poison 

and still 

I kept drinking 

How long

How long must I
          be left to feel
           this horrible ache
                       you’ve left behind

                        -glassy-eyedgirl

She was the sea and the moon
And she wanted someone 
that craved to kiss her fire
And knew how to swim in 
the stormy skies of her eyes

Dark nights

Yet another glorious sunrise
steals my dark nights from me
And who will the moon talk to 
If these clouds beckon for my days
Always almost touching bliss
as the sun carries you away
You are every shade of night
and I want to swim in your darkness 

Snakes

It really does just come down to how a woman looks. You think it’s about attraction, they’ll say it’s connection, but it’s not, it’s about how a woman looks.

You think they’re attracted to you because of your vibrant soul or your laugh or the way the sun catches the green in your eyes just right. 

It’s not. It’s about tits and ass and how you look in a bikini. But it doesn’t stop there. You can be gorgeous and perfect and they’re still going to look at another girls tits and ass. 

It just doesn’t fucking matter. Most men are so shallow. 

I’m never going to be loved for me. And I am never going to be desired the way I want. I want someone that only sees me. Why is that so much to ask?

The rain

I wanted to shut myself off from the world, and deny anyone anymore access.

My heart is flooded with pain, you see.

And I break down in tears during the smallest conversations. 

Small talk hurts and is disingenuous.

I can’t express how I feel, if using words cracks open my chest and my voice trembles. 

You see, I have to smile at people all day long, and I have been meticulous with my makeup and hair.

But really I just break down and cry. And it’s not a pretty cry, this is torrential like the storms I want to drown in.

Today it will rain again and I will let my weeping and blubbering be deadened by the crack of thunderstorms. 

I will lose myself in the bursts of lightning to stifle my wailing. I need the rain to cleanse me of you. I need it to let go. I cannot go on not breathing. 

Acceptance

I stopped being angry. Somehow I just stopped. I don’t know when it happened or how. But for however long this lasts, I will remember this is when I realized it. 

Maybe it’s the cool damp night. Or the cover of grey clouds. It could be the wind tickling the trees or the fact that it’s 4am and everything is quiet.

The rage is gone. Bitter never looked good on me anyway. The war in my mind over the things I was angry about was deafening. 

Maybe it’s acceptance. Maybe it was the walk on the beach with my son. Maybe because someone is actively making me feel special. Could be my friend that unexpectedly reached out to check on me, like I check on her. 

I have been angry about failed jobs. Lost love. No sex. Bills I couldn’t afford. Getting older and my body betraying me. Pissed off at myself because I didn’t make time for myself. I have been angry about feeling used and slighted, people not caring for me the way I care for them. Hating my pity parties and taking uturns down memory lane when the roads have been long closed. I have been grieving a life and forgetting to live. I have been beating myself up.

I’m not angry today. I don’t think I was yesterday or the day before that. I’ll still rage about the way people drive, but I accept that. I feel good about the promise of tomorrow. Whomever, however or whatever it was/is, please know that from the depths of my hopeful heart, I am grateful. I just want to put all that good energy back out into the universe. 

Orchid veins

If healing yourself from situations and circumstances that should have killed you makes you a witch, then black magic and moonlight flow deep in these orchid veins

No going easy

I’ve been patiently waiting to hear the wood headboard clack fiercely up against the wall. The kind that lets the neighbors know there’s no going easy.

How I wish it was someone special that could produce the rhythmic thrumming against that wall, the kind that created sexual tension that tests my flexibility and ruins the mattress and frame of my bed.

I cannot remember the last time it was rocked by someone worthy other than me for myself.

Almost sad I don’t live in fear of the large framed Van Gogh print falling off the fortification that divides me from my neighbors. 

Kinda need a reason to hold onto it as my back is broken and I melt with passion. 

I need to whimper and gasp for air, I need to feel the dam break me.

This means war

Constant deconstructing of all the words that broke her bones and all the actions that contradicted and debunked the notion of love and romance. Followed by tsunami size bouts of depression pooling in depths of nearly destroying her life, time and time again. And all the ridiculous chatter of overthinking that scared her into believing she could never trust that she wouldn’t always be preparing for battle. Nevermind the rage and carnage of a mind fraught with open graves and the dead that never slept; her head demanding a hard no - expressing outrage for the gravity of devastation in allowing the weakness of her heart to reign supreme with it’s stubborn optimism. For even in the face of broken promises and lean-to lies, her heart will just keep forgiving and making excuses for disrespecting behavior, and the manipulation of words shredding what semblance of her ego was left. Her blood soaked heart would sell her soul and she would numb her mind just so it could cling to the idea of a devotional safe desirous love. And she never abandoned a silly schoolgirl’s dream of true love. Her brain always screaming about the bleed and all the anguish and suffering of a million tiny deaths because the selfishness of her heart that just wanted to love, baring no weight of the destruction it caused. Still her heart pleaded and begged yes - in the knowing that love is love, and even if she would never get to feel the magnitude of the warmth she hastily gave away, she could lose herself in the frivolity of giving love enough so maybe she could be loved  in return. You wonder how her heart could see at all, what with all the galaxies spinning behind her eyes. Pitious and pathetic, full of emotion and magic and an extreme sensitivity to other’s needs yet none willing to offer her the same shelter. So her heart would stand out in the rain waiting until a boy grabbed her slowly fiercely kissing the storms that raged within, bringing her essence back to life. Her affection for a story she could tell and be proud of instead of the stories she sang as she cried herself to sleep. 

Then her soul wept - being torn apart by absolute truths and questions that circled like vultures preying upon a fresh carcass. The soul knew all the truths, even the ones her heart and mind couldn’t dare whisper. The soul crushed the narrative - not with ‘what if’s’ and ‘why not’s’, but ancient truths dripping from the blades of realism. The mind not wanting to contend with the now, the heart with a foot in the past and a soul that sought to shape all of their futures.

There was no arguing, all three were right. 

You cannot make people love you. Words are simply not enough. And the mind, heart and soul let go of the feud and called a momentary truce. Maybe they all held on too tightly and she just needed to breathe. So instead she let go, listened to some music and let the universe work it’s magic.