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SongI sing his name softly as I sleep,
hearing echoes of him while I dream,
my thoughts in slumber like a tumbling stream,
his syllables bring calmness to the deep.
I sing his name quietly in my days,
a constant sountrack to my own existence;
knowing however far or near the distance
he's lighting my life with the brightest rays.
I sing him, dreaming, waking, in-between.
I sing him while I daydream, my sweet dove
who fills my life so fully with his love
that keeps my heart alive, and pure, and clean.
If life's a journey through the mists of time,
may his ever fall step-by-step with mine.
abysssalt-mouthed, eyes pouring
but he's sure he's not crying
he's sure there was nothing
but the sound of his singing.
he makes his heart sing
he brings things to fruition
in his soul-deep cavernous
the closeness is hazardous
to the health of their minds
but they persist, coexist
with each other, they've kissed
a hundred thousand times
and it's never enough for him,
or for him. he writes poems
like hymns for him. his back teeth
ache from need, from the greed
he feels when he sees his skin.
his fingertips shout obscene
sweet nothings to his ready cheek.
he falls further into an abyss
filled with kisses and bliss.
Billy BluebottleBilly Bluebottle was my friend. I didn't even know what a bluebottle was but it was Billy Bluebottle's name and only his name conjured up from some recess in my mind. He was never just Billy, always Billy Bluebottle, exclaimed in one breath to parents who worried.
Billy Bluebottle was a grown-up who played with me ceaselessly, always had time for me, never went away to sea or had to rush to make the tea. Billy Bluebottle talked to me. Billy Bluebottle comforted me and accompanied me.
Since, I have been asked if he told me frightening things. Billy Bluebottle was not frightening; he told me things, though. He told me now would be a good time to wash the felt-tipped pen from my fingers, or that maybe I ought to read for my homework.
I never saw Billy Bluebottle, not really, I was aware that he was there, that he cared. He was there for me when my mind wouldn't stop rushing, he would reach into my brain and s-l-o-w it all down to muted noise that was easier to bear.
Billy Bluebottle made
DogmaSit still - don't fidget
Eyes forward. Stop giggling!
Sing the right songs and pray the right prayers
and remember God is always watching you.
We'll indoctrinate you, little ones
and teach you to believe
in the imaginary friends our parents
taught us to believe in.
Father, son and holy spirit!
Three for the price of one, yet one
and we expect you to understand
the nuances of the Holy Trinity.
And we expect you to behave with reverence
though your childlike mind is too intelligent
to deal in sky fairies and virgin mothers
whose impregnation you view with suspicion.
And we expect you to sing, and pray
and be good in Sunday School
where dinosaurs teach you dinosaurs never existed
that they're Creations but not of the Creator.
Oh yes, we'll indoctrinate you, little ones
There will be no Free Will for you, little ones
What we tell you is the truth, little ones
and you'll grow up to teach your own little ones.
Sit still - don't be silly, it's not boring
It's the foundation for your life, thi
when you touch methere -
there, where you placed your hand
on my hip, crossed with silvering lines
bone jutting from soft padding
there, I feel your touch when I sleep
when I wake, and think of your breath
on my shoulder, I feel you there.
here, where you place your fingers
on my mouth, part-open, dried and cracked
tongue moistening at your scent
here, I taste your fingertips
knowing they have touched me here, and here
and here - knowing they will again.
where you touch me tingles and burns
like you are made of power, made of fire
like you fill me with boundless energy
where you touch me will always blaze
where you go I will always follow.
where you are, I will always be.
OceanWaters which whip violently above
are currents strong, yet gentle.
Sinking, like falling in love
slowly, almost irrevocably
then - pushing this now-compliant body up
with strength previously unknown
to dry world once again, noisy, abuzz.
Underneath is peace
leaving behind a world of chaos
for silence and muscular ease.
Joints that creak are oiled
by the flowing waters' grease
the mind that creaks is soothed
by the noiselessness of the seas.
CrashThe sea crashes on the shore, violent
and wild, I am a child of the water
fluid and transient
it froths like spittle on an angry mouth
it shouts its waves and currents
washing over me, washing through me.
The sea ebbs and flows, it knows
nothing can stay the same
it frightens me in its power
as it screams, I scream, drowned out
by its majesty
screaming with me, screaming through me.
The sea rises and falls, fast, slow,
rhythmically yet unpredictably.
Green-blue like my own eyes
vast, almost infinite
it moves through moods like my own soul,
moving with me, moving through me.
I Am No SheI am no "she".
My voice does not define me.
My face does not define me.
My painted nails and eyeliner do not define me.
What you perceive does not define me.
I am no "she".
And every time you use that word,
you disrespect me. You tell me with "she"
that you think you know my gender
better than I do.
What you think does not define me.
I am no "she".
My fucking genital configuration
is my own business, perhaps my spouse's
maybe even my doctor's
but never yours.
My body parts do not define me.
I am no fucking "she".
Neither am I "he", despite your protestations
that one must be one or the other
and never the twain should meet.
I am "they". "Their". "They're".
There. Isn't that easy?
Your language does not define me.
I am no "she".
"She" cuts me, every time
like a thousand paper cuts
stinging from a society that seeks
to define me as female.
Society does not define me.
I am no "she".
And you should know better
and you, and you, people from my own
community, but still... "she". Every time.
WomanA story behind her eyes
A dream on her lips
Waiting to be said,
Waiting to be true.
A voice from heart.
A lovely sound.
You're so tender,
So simple and complicated.
Spontaneous and shy.
Silent and talkative.
Serious and funny.
Always in love.
Tears rolling down for an illusion.
Eyes looking up missing somebody.
Letters never sent.
A heart that never sleeps.
You are so beautiful
Even when you feel you're the ugliest one.
You are a princess
Even when you feel nobody cares of you.
You are a goddess
Even when years painted lines on your face.
A sweet strength
A reason to love.
Candles for Fireplaces Make me a wish.
Suspend me in the lines of score sheets,
in the jetsam and flotsam of the shadows of songs
that never got the chance
to be sung.
Bereave the flames from Persephone's care,
disenchanted superheroyou are my kryptonite
even though i’m no superman;
i’m just riddled with weakness,
but i must be strong enough
to keep you.
(you are a drug
i can’t put down.
i don’t want to.)
we are standing on a precipice,
and i’m realizing i can’t fly.
(will you jump
on the way down.)
your hand is warm in mine
and i’m not strong enough to let go.
(stay by me.
be my strength,
because i’m not a super hero
and i can’t save you.
A Bisexual Poem.A Bisexual poem
Some people like men
Some people like women
Some may like the same genders of themselves
Some also like both
Liking both genders is being bisexual
I'm bisexual myself
No, i'm not ashamed of it
I'm proud of it
All bisexuals should proud of it
It's just who we are
Some people may accept us
And some people may not
If they don't like bisexuals, just forget about them
If they do like bisexuals, be their friend
I'm proud to be bisexual
You should be too.
If...If these boundaries and borders didn't exist,
my thoughts would be less fogy and without any mist.
If we didn't belong to different cultures and religions,
it wouldn't be difficult for me to take these decisions.
If these differences and distances could disappear,
I would be diagnosed with happiness and no sign of fear.
If these restrictions and limitations could vanish,
all my stress and tensions would suddenly diminish.
If we hadn't confessed our love for each other,
would you still care for me, would you still bother ?
If we hadn't met at all,
I wouldn't be so confident and stand so tall.
If I was as mature as you and you as immature as me,
we both could let go of these feelings and set each other free.
If you were as tangled as me and me as untangled as you,
I'll accept that this is not an illusion and your love for me is true.
If I didn't smile whenever I missed you,
and look in the mirror to capture the astonishing view.
If all this was just a sweet dream or may be a bluff,
Damn meDid you know I smile upon seeing yours
Did you know my heart skips upon seeing your face
Did you know I wish to hear your voice before I seek sleep
Heaven's knocking on the door of my heart but my palms sweat
Bliss is the liquid fire upon my mind but I wish to contain what already is
Sweet upon the touch of my flesh that I wish was yours but I worry of ruining what is already had
A dark cloud ascends from the face of the beautiful moon that is the full of your face
Goddess of the rosen petals that are the softness of your lips
Swift songs of silken words from crescent petals that purse and smile with pronunciation
Porcelain flesh smooth to the touch of snow angel's skin
Leaving TulsaGuitar strings marked your palms,
tattooing lyrics onto your skin
and making it glow like italic rust.
Garrett, would you have called me
over to your favorite spot
in the mountains
if you'd known that I was just as
lost as those scared rabbits,
running away from a dust storm?
Boy, I didn't expect to fall
prey to your September eyes
but that's exactly what happened.
And I never thought
we'd have anything in common,
let alone a strange
fire burning a hole in our sides;
our protective shells like Lego houses.
The thrill of wanderlust
rushed through our veins
as we sat, sipping cokes with rum
at a little soiled dove
bar in Tulsa on the weekends.
We talked about the places
we'd see if we ever
were to leave home,
sharing made-up fantasies
about running down gypsy roads
with backpacks strapped
to our bodies and wildflowers
melting in our cheeks
as we blushed under
a bourgeois European sun.
Boy, you smiled like you
couldn't wait to defy gravity
and I felt sorry that
your family didn't see
DesireWhat one can hope to transpire
Immersed in the glare
Of murky tribulation
Many nights fall away
From the blade of imploration
Shaving time fervently
In hopes for company
To assuage the anguish of the cold
Many fly their colors
Fastened to desperation
In search of the same wandering eyes
Longing for the safest place to fall
Those fortunate enough
Move on with vigor
Their stride replenished
In the strange revelry of romance
Those fleeting reveries
Ring true for the favored
As loyal dreamers
Beneath the powerful movements
Of the proud and bountiful night
Sweet Nothingsthat sweet nothing (everything) something
that you whispered in my apprehensive ear
which made the hairs on my neck stand straight
one by one like tiny soldiers you called into rank.
that sweet something (nothing) everything
trickled past my eardrum, where the soldiers
beat a rhythm with my heartbeat, oozed stickily
into my mouth and the sickly, saccharine taste
was cloying on my tongue, involuntarily
my mouth rebelled, and spat those syrupy words
away, rejecting every last drop.
Red Letter Day - Prologue
So here I am, writing.
I’m writing, I’m writing – just as you told me to.
I’m writing, I’m writing, I’m writing.
Have you ever noticed that when the sun goes down, this flat changes? It does. The walls are white during the day and lingering brown at night. During the day, I’m with you and the light from outside paints the walls that heavenly color. But when that sun goes down, the demons wake and I’m alone again, even though you’re just a room away.
Somehow it seems less threatening tonight, and I think it’s because you’ve given me an assignment to try and fight off the darkness. You gave me a stack of papers and a pen and told me to write everything that comes to mind.
It’s a strange feeling to have complete freedom. These empty pages are mine to do whatever I please – I could even wipe my ass with them – but they’re also terribly intimidating. The blank page has always been a nemesis of man. It&
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More