Much More Beautiful

Wow.

Big Daddy was right. And SO quickly.

One thing that makes me really happy in life ( something I was reminded of today) is that I can say whatever the FUCK I want.

That’s right.

Right here? This is my place.

And I? I can say whatever I want.

That’s glorious! Big Daddy never asks me to censor myself. He is secure in who he is, naturally dominant. He knows that words are the VERY most important thing to me. And to restrict them would be death.

I would die inside.

And I want to shine.

I am much more beautiful when I shine.

Missing Thing

Kind of see
some
thing missing

some thing seen
some
missing thing

saw and un-
seen
missing thing

From the Podium

Here’s my desperate response.

I can’t pull out the kink.
There are

too many played angles

and euclidian escape plans.

I’ll save you a corner on

hard, straight sheets

done real neat.

You.
Hold it in.
Count me on the losing side

and crowbar me from my ways.

Take a left, then forget which way you came.

Skin

someday to me someday’s skin someday’s taste
fantasy to you, fantasy’s skin, fantasy’s taste
forever to us
forever skin

Dream I

She would run from the house, lifting her rough skirts to increase her speed. To get there. The shouts of the sisters would echo, but she would ignore them and laugh, casting her eyes up to a blue sky. The sound of the tall grasses played drums on her tall boots. She would get there, she would. Defying all the rules, she would make it to the place, the illusion he had bloomed in her earthen mind. She would search the forest, wondering if it was all a Victorian fairytale, had she burned her bridges in a free fall for no reason, no promise.

But in her dream, he was there. His clear eyes darted to the side and she saw the carvings. And then he was gone again. She felt with her fingers tips and the wood still hummed and burned with life. She read it like a map and was off.

A new course charted.

So She Says II: A List

Let me get you started:

Good mother, wife and friend.

Gifted writer.

Believer in fairies and fate and God.

Dreamer who hasn’t lost her faith in love.

Heart Will Break For It’s Pounding

Wandering around
Land mines
Without your
Blue light
Shining

My Brain Wants a Date With Your Brain

My brain wants a date with your brain.

You are a scary genius
words and manic drawings,
political discord.
If only our brains could
fuck it out
what an offspring.

Otherwise our bodies,
raped and pillaged,
lets just say it,
aren’t quite right.
Or even useful!
Maybe at night?
Not even then

Your brain
is a riser,
my brain
rises too.

Imagine the pretend world,
problem solved with
a think-tank copulation
in a cocktail of our smarts!

Imagine interweaving
chinese finger trap
octopi arms of nerve endings!

There is no heart
without a brain.
There is no brain
when it comes to the heart.

Fantasize.
Exercise.
Write that shit out.
Get sharp.

When we do,
we will
mind consummate.
My brain’s a slut, yours is too!

Thats what I heard, anyway.

DownHere

I can’t stop my eyes from closing,
so much easier to let time pass.
The lie I told was that I could be your perfect girl.
I’m cowering under that elephant-sized lie,
heavy although it is, its nothing like what’s to come.
The discovery.
The discovery will leave me weeping.
I race back to zero like a good little crazy.
It’s easier at the bottom, parallel to no expectations.
I’m not cut out to be consistently impressive.
I’m flash in the pan, once in a dream.
And when you realize what a colossal fuck up I am…
I hope you don’t regret me.
I wish I already had the tattoo; a chance you can’t ever walk away.
And now.

Cursive Sharpie Rant In Purple

You have me filling up notebooks with slow and saucy prose given rights by impression of words short skirt syndrome why do girls like me keep slutting it up to be lifted by both arms how did things get so muddled? So mired in moral muck, I’ll do nothing but lift you up today, bring no drama, freedom does that now and then leaves us with a nude hook in the most infested waters, means no free discussion on cock + cunt, no square left unadorned, no surface left to scratch, etch or make for my own-lava prose, prose like goo, like pink powdered donuts, like the vilest human acts liquefied, prose like poison, chained prose, prose like pasta jello salad, like cinnamon, like sulfer, like memories, like nightmares like chloroform, like nitrice, like an ice cream headache, my mind is fuck tired, pounding sore and wanting more than silence.