It’s inevitable, perhaps, the wilting of relationships.
seems like the corners of someone’s eyes grow heavier
as hours pass, weeks, months, and it’s always easy
to stare at sadness or hide from a lover when things become
It’s always ‘complicated’
as uttered by every person on this dying earth.
and this home turns us
and to us whispers. and we pray silent thoughts in response.
the arms of our whispers begin growing weeds enough
to prune thoughts about love and vows and hysteria
as age grants itself to you,
as polished people ponder the various ways to disconnect from yearning,
to stop themselves from tip-toing away from empty beds
to stop themselves from chasing harsh illusions of warmth in bodies
who lure us into freezing fatalities…
all this and yet –
i’ve felt myself enough to be coaxed by my own heart
into seeking affection from noted illusions.
like sucking my fingers at the mere memory of sweet cakes,
i recall men.
i recall attention.
and then tension.
i recall silence.
and phone calls.
and illness and tears.
i recall silence.
and phone calls.
and illness and tears.
i recall calling.
and then silence.
and a new start begins cyclical and clinical,
dinner paid for by a new man, by new men.
chasing the hollow outline of heat,
charging at the empty promise of a person worth more
than a free meal.
i let them feed me for sport.
and try my hand at getting a grasp
on those good enough for something
i. never want to be pretty. never want to feel clean and nice, be praised and priced for what ruins me, what makes us all attached and detached and hating and hungry for eachothers flesh like, survival of the fittest… woman. sisters, we’ve fallen. out of love with ourselves and eachother. girls, breeding is not our power, love is not our killer and the only thing thats sets us apart is not yeast infections and procreation. girls. i can tell you truth - not behind your back bout your behind and whether you got enough back to portrude, be rude, obsess about comparative features and breed hate for someone i should relate to… never create pain but speak truth. not all that or make jokes about those pockets of fat or how fat my mans pockets be before yours… cuz i know what fat can reach into your spirit and weigh… weigh… weigh you down, like a double dutch game carrying and extra 50 pounds of pain, of emptiness, of self loathing and withholding love from our selves. we should be reaching up to eachother, place our sisters upon shelves and say “you’re not just pretty, you’re perfect” and the air breaths out blowing words over you saying “you’re good enough for the sun to press its lips against your head every day, good enough for the moon to pull you close, pull you from the inside out caressing your fluids like a newborn as you sleep in the arms of mother, of all things bigger than ourselves.” bigger than our brothers, bigger than touched up images on magazine covers, bigger than the things we can give and get from lovers. larger than life, large and in charge and without the empty confindence from getting picked up at bars. you’re more than this. and i’m guilty too, but sometimes helping others is the only way to help you. and i see this relfection with every breath professing and preaching - but girls - i know you. we are the center, we are the healers. what man can stand without a woman to hold him up, i don’t know a single one. but the ones we forget to help up is, you. and me. our ladies, our girls. its an urban war for sure, jerry springer is a general and i sit and laugh as our sisters throw blows call eachther hoes, and its funny. but not really. because if we taught our daughters how to respect themselves as carefully as they inspect themselves for imperfections, there wouldn’t be a springer show cause every girl with a soul would drop any man who had no self control. so girls. don’t be a girl who hates girls, you don’t have to love them but at least be one who loves themself.
The gentle cover
Of covers exposing your shoulders
I kiss them with honesty
I place them in my bareness
And fall short in my
I work marches around your face
My eyes run circles
Brown piercing seriousness
And causing you to blush
But I don’t see any redness
In your blackness
The tonality of your voice
Voicing expressions exposing your shoulders
And why you have scar tissue
And a daughter
I learn why I have shortcomings in my
And why you sweat so sweetly
Why your breath is harsh, why your mouth
But is never alone
The gentle cover
Of your hands that cover
My face in the park
Burrowed in touch
Kissed with honesty
In essence, I will give you my message without pretense - no defense required - i’m just here to confront you with a beautiful opportunity - me - we’ve been half inside jumping this ring around the rosey - i’ve been waiting on that hand to play - a - round - with. hands too deep in pockets when i walk past - i pro - fess. i’m tired of this pedestrian crush, like walking with a Walkman and no batteries - we exchange pleasantries, briefly reminisce over memories and detail our lives in memos we misplaced. enough side walking and side talking, i’ve been too shy for years - four years - to be exact. In fact, i’m ready to let it all lose. no intentions to be obtuse, without excuse - you move me. when you speak i witness a verbal masterpiece, watch a painted word flow through your talented mouth - like a kiss from yourself t yourself and i’m reaching up to taste it behind your back too often. and last time we spoke - maybe it was the liquid bravery or the confident kid in me - i was real about it - “when you drop that girl, you call me”- i said - “i can’t say it won’t happen” - you said - so come get it. i’m sick of acting like i don’t deserve this. i’m as true as a woman can be. i will sex you mercilessly - and - love you endlessly. if you will take this chance on me - you’ll see this lady is a once in a blue moon opportunity
Well I hope your dreams become real.
— sweet words from Sanitago de Compostela, Spain all the way to Albuquerque, USA.
inebriated again, but only enough to enjoy it and not enough to stop from bloggin’. had a great time today. started a new and promising drawing and yes, it involves barnacles. you’ll see,
however, today i was gathering the mixed emotions from the previous month and smashing them neatly into a huge ball of unexpected rage which i’ve thrown at my sister too much. realized, apologized and began to cope. bottom line, we attended the blackbirds 80s dance party which i loved for the tunes - glorious beats and sounds - and danced with a real cool Kenyan who looked like miles davis. but what can i say, i’m kinda into someone i met recently so we’ll just have to take it easy and wait and see. i dislike liking someone, honestly. its kinda a bummer to get excited about a guy wanting to meet up for a date and talk (a guy who is actually my type and that i’m attracted to in more than one way) because it means caring - which takes up alot of time and space in my mind. ugh. but it also means a reason to settle down and that dancing is just dancing, it doesn’t mean that i’m easy and lonely. it means that i’m excited… to go on a legit daytime date, show off how awesome and smart and beautiful i am and see if i feel the same about him as i feel about myself, haha! until then, i’ma just hang out, theres no room for footsy until i see what i see… but theres a second potential suitor from prior years who truly trumps all men. we’ll see, we’ll see what we see. until then, i will try to keep this blog art - oriented. you dirty barnacles!