I’m over my need to know anything. You are free to love, free to hide, and free to be. Freed from my timing for rescue and miracles, Free of my need for self-crucifixion, I myself am finally free of moral injuries. So I’m the One who’s Truly Free And greatly blessed am I indeed
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, Physical-not-physical, 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.
A CAUTIONARY TALE: DON’T MARRY ASSHOLES IN DISGUISE
(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 Dream-come-true. 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?
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.
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.
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?
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:
(Gracias for the photo, @thenixcreative)
♨️ Is My New Disclaimer for Very Foul Language and/or Sexually Explicit Talk
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.
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, “Reflection!”, 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.