An Intimate Confession about the Modern State of Intimacy 🌶 🌶


I need to be addressed by my name,
Cry on a shoulder about my day,
Be undressed in a close personal way,
Seduced while holding hands,
Locking lips, and touching tongues,
Into a charming but disarming
Sapiosexual maze.

This combination rouses me
To a heightened state of “Stimulate,”
Where I can then be Emotionally caressed,
Set apart from scripted bots
And the rest of all The Rest,
The Only One, the “Always One” and The “Now-Forever One,”
Until I’m so high I crescendo
Into “What Satisfies Me Best.”

I need it all, I must confess,
Before jumping immediately
At the First Blush of the First Try
On the very first night,
To surprisingly-skillfully-virtually
Relieve and Drowse my “partner”
Into a solid, heavy sleep,
Assisting HIM achieve
A Most Basic Human Need,
While ignoring MINE and ME.

This constant raising and dashing of Longing
Is what ended the prolonging
Of the delusion of “You & Me,”
For we were NEVER a “We.”

Instead, this is the end
Of a confusing and illusory,
Antiseptic absence of
Sweat, friction, and dirty sheets,
Sullied by the delicious treats
Of a freshly-released
Gorgeously fluidic, blatantly Unhermetic mess of
Intertwined and inner-aligned Two-ness.

I DID promise I’d confess,
So here’s the skinny scoop
I’ll share with you:
What I find I miss the most
Of my endless list of MOSTS
Is the silly, post, inter, and coarse
Pillow talk and pillow squawk
Which reeks of actual tenderness.

These are the almost-unbearably sexy parts
I’m not too alone to forget
About passion previously shared
With past husbands, lovers, and
Prior significant (and not-so-significant) others.

So I’m well-aware
And I well-know
The number of my company
Will always and constantly change,
But my basic need for Skintimacy
Will always stay the same.

PS. Please forgive me,
I don’t know why
I’m having such
A difficult time
Processing my Parting
With the “I must have imagined it all”
Phantasm who stole almost ALL
As well as Piece of Mind.



You burned me with Hot.
I returned you with Soft;
Yet you torched me down
To ash the ground.
You crushed me there,
Scared me there, but
Never bothered to call me by name
Or stare into my eyes,
Which Cried and Died Me there.
Why? Because you accosted me there
And DEARLY costed me there.

Next, you buried me there,
Which was NO surprise
Since Stupid “I”
FINALLY clued to realize
That Stupid YOU never cared.
You Left me there, and
Forever Hid me there,
So if ANYONE ever loved me HERE,
They’d NEVER find me THERE.

You scooped me and consumed me,
Took my fumes but then refused
My Most-Inner Precious.
Damn! You were so reckless
With my very human’s heart.
It terrifies me to ponder
If you planned it All from the start.

You turned my insides out, and
Like a louse and a lout,
You debased me and
Tried to erase me.
You must have thought me
The most foolish of clowns
To take my full-to-busting
Unrequited-but-trusting self
And cooly shoot Me down
To live in Oblivion,
With all the Other Idiots.

I hope you’re Lost,
Thrown, Turned, Tossed,
Never Touched and Never Held.
It’s MY turn to spitely spurn,
So let ME be The First
To welcome YOU to the
Cold and Callous Illusional Palace
Known as Hell which YOU
So sacrificially and altruistically
Designed and condemned ME to!

It so much more than Disappoints;
It shreds my “Kind And Caring,”
And stamps me “Not Worth
Procuring, Insuring or Sparing.”

In short and with spite,
You diluted my price,
Neglecting and Rejecting
Me as common and cheap.
You confused me, used me,
And if that wasn’t enough,
You left me shattered,
Torn, shorn, and tattered
In an Indifferent and invisibly
Bloody, neglected heap.

So don’t YOU DARE find
YOU mind it’s finally MY time
To judge and send YOU
To your OWN hell;
I hope it whisks you down below
In a fancy stretch limo;
But if not, I wont sweat
Because at least I’M nice enough
To drive you there Myself!



I thought I would expire from Not Knowing, yet
My need to understand died with my feelings.
I made myself smaller, so you wouldn’t be afraid.
Then, I kept my door open for you way too long, subjecting myself to severe infection, hypothermia, and hyperthermia.
I nearly died from exposure.
Now, the door is so sealed shut, I couldn’t find those feelings again if my life depended on it.
There’s simply no ingress for your size and shape,
Only and In particular YOURS,
But perfectly suited to the size and shape of OTHERS.
So thank you for THAT, at least.



I have to be highly entertaining because I’m a tough crowd, and I’m both sole performer and sole audience member most of the time.

Not to mention, I’m really hard on myself.

And while most people would agree I’m highly agreeable, I’m ALSO notoriously difficult to please or impress.

So… I imagine you can imagine my inner struggles.

PS. If I didn’t have such low standards, I’d be too afraid to perform at all.

YouTrue Crime Poetry, Exhibit 41

Guilty of showing off my quick digestion skills again…


(They have some convincing costumes,
so please don’t start “Poet-Blaming”
for “Victim-Shaming”;
I wrote a poem to honor her,
Which honors more than empty words)

I’m so sorry The Freshest Rosie
Was Bound and Married into a useless posey,
But because she poked so slowly,
She identified her murderer,
And indexed Death’s
Most Pointed Finger
At Her useless excuse of
A lame-ass husband;
He poisoned her with cyanide
And never cared about
The Cars Nearby,
Driving on Ways both
Motored and High.

He might’ve been a Husband, true,
But in my always-humble opinion,
Yazeed’s Phylum is more
Rat than Human.
This isn’t fact nor scarcely truth,
Though I’ll be glad to school
Anyone with less than
Half a clue.
My lessons are so free,
You’ll think they’re a
In fact versus fiction
(Yes, I’m aware of the
Inherent contradiction),
I can only offer a special
Priced at so low a Price
And at CooCoo Crazy Costs
Because I actually talk This Way.
Oh, how it drives me so insane!
But what can I do?
And what can I say?
It Always comes out Rhyming
Any and Either way,
Every nano-momentary passing
Of Every Single Day.

Which Antidote might you advise
To under-dose Demise-by-Rhyme?



I decided what separates
The poems of the Young
From the poems of the Old
Isn’t the song sung nor story told;
Rather it’s down to The Style
Which captures a Frown or a Smile.

Do You prefer to mentally copulate
With the first prick of fresh heartache,
Or do you prefer the dejection,
Pain and unspared despair
Of often brutally-inflicted
Repeat Rejection?

It’s simply a matter of taste.
A Choice doesn’t have to be made.
We can Break your heart Either Way.

The Mistake I Made

The Mistake I Made

I mistook a Poetic Soul
For a Generous Soul.

This mistake bankrupted me,
So I can’t afford Mistakes anymore;
They come at great expense.

I can’t repay them,
Only replay them;
So I won’t make them
With Any Other Living Soul,
Dead or Alive,
Ever NEVER Again.



Discovery swears I’m weary Now
And Then as well a Home to house
Feelings scream: Intensity!
Beg You to Reach Out for Me,
Drown Me in Dark Memory
Back when You returned My Love.
Now dicarded, Lonesome Dove.

(Photo courtesy of Emiliano Orduña)


You think your secrets Terrify
Though I have not a clue to Why;
You think I can’t exist without
It Tears me up then brings me Home.
Home to find You in my bed,
Dreaming of a Love so dead
To You, it has been quenched of Fire.
Once convinced to burst in Flame,
Now Inspiring Cold-to-touch
Weaponry to thwart Desire
And Broken, grasp at Any Crutch.

(Thanks for the use of your photo, @aaronburden)


I wonder why you ask as if
You already know the answer?
I wonder why you pull me close
If mounting mental distance?
I wonder why you slow down Love
When passion now increases?
And why must you Intoxicate
To soberly consume Me?
I wonder why you tease and promise with
A mind bent on Betrayal?
And why cloak words in Mystery
If clouded questions clear the sky
So you can then forsake me?

(Photo courtesy of @anthonytran)



Don’t know how or when,
But Our Love has turned to Hate.
I’ve got a deal for You:
I’d like to make a trade.

Whether Tangled in the Past,
Or Tainted Now by Fear,
The Only Truth of sense:
Our Joy Has Disappeared.

Your Once-Warm Affection
Has duly run its course;
I think we must admit
It’s Time For A Divorce.

RACING THOUGHTS & New Disclaimers ♨️

I’ve just lived a Month of Hell I don’t understand and for the first time recently, haven’t had the words to describe. But I want to try.

The last 3-6 weeks (I can’t remember) have been a Giant, Extended, Protracted Clusterfuck of Epic Proportions. On a Daily Basic. Comprised of the following Ingredients:

1. The Daily Trifecta of Physical Mental, and Emotional Anguish.
2. That Damn Oral Surgery: the additional pain, the inconvenience, the EXPENSE, CVS and other Mosquitoes, the recovery period, the healing period, the waiting for the next phase, the fact there IS a Next Phase,
3. Going from February to July, at least where I live, brought my favorite Wardrobe Season, Mild Winter, to a screeching halt with As-Yet-Unworn-But-Recently-Purchased clothing Making Eyes from my closet; who knows if they’ll Wink at me next year? Also, the abrupt and drastic change in temperature has been hell on ONE of my pains: an exceptionally rare and therefore un-researched disorder, Erythromelalgia, or “Man-on-Fire Disease.” Let’s leave it that for now; I don’t want to burn you.
4. THE COMPANY: Profound Loneliness, Static Aloneness, A Despairing Sense of Pointlessness, Pissed-Off Self Loathing, Absence of Invitations, Unwillingness to Extend Invitations, Inability to Accept or Extend Invitations, Unfounded but CONVINCED Ugliness, Too Much Time But Nothing To Do, Wouldn’t Do It Anyway, Profound Sorrow, Regret!, Ghosts from the Past, Abject Misery, Fear of My Future, Inability to Cope with the Present, Paralysis,, Growing Emptiness, Social Anxiety, Agoraphobia (home both caste and prison of my own making), and therefore:


I NEED a weekly fix of Karaoke to handle the Slings and Arrows of my Outraged Fortune.

The good news is I FINALLY sought self-care by Undergoing Transformation of both Upper AND Lower Nails on Wednesday. All 20 are now Bulleted and Shellacked in Deluxe, Upgraded Red Glitter and Reflecting in Top Coat. How’s THAT for “Spring Color?“

I’m still not feeling great. But at least the Racing Thoughts in My Head are
Lovingly Whispering:

Karaoke Tonight?

(Gracias for the photo, @thenixcreative)

♨️ Is My New Disclaimer for Very Foul Language and/or Sexually Explicit Talk


The Winner only wants to be Loved for Herself.

The Loser Leaves, not feeling as if He’s escaped with his very life…

The Winner to gloat while bloodshedding on the sharp. shattered, shit-stained shards of the Shadow of her Former Soul.

Oh well, Shit Happens!!

At least, She’ll get over it and learn from Mistakes Made. She’ll pair Her Whole Self with another Whole Self next time.

The Loser’s Unexamined life will remain Clouded by the litter of Unconsidered Mistakes.


Thoughts of Sweetness make me feel Sick to My Stomach, Pained in My Heart, and Intolerably Dark today.

This combination is only Enhanced by the flood of Bile and Hatred currently Rising,

Resulting in these pesky digestion sounds I hear.

Though of course I haven’t eaten all day! I’m always forgetting to eat. My Empty Stomach makes it even Sicker.

Thank Goodness!

Rest Assured: I won’t be Happy until You’re Half as Miserable as I Am.


Welcome to My Head once I perfected a “Thought-Stopping” Exercise I learned last year. I finally realized how/why I got Cancer twice by aged 45. And perhaps all that pain medicine was numbing more than physical pain?


When I plumb depths, they terrify.
I’ve glimpsed into the Hells I Hide.
Secrets lurk so Dark Inside,
Monsters, Pain, and Anguish, too;
The Empty Void Awaiting You

Won’t be avoided; Screams,
Can’t escape a Soul’s Infection
Eating from Your Sharpest Place.
This Yawing, Grasping, Clutching Space
Demands Bestowal with a Name.
You call it “Evil”; That’s in Vain

Because you’re not that Bad!
Mistakes Aplenty Lives should have;
They reinforce a Search Within,
A Search, well-sought, yields Many Gifts.

Confrontation is the only Glue,
Beams the Shine and Lights the View
And makes the Search less scary, too.

(Thanks to DDP for the photo)