More of what men SHOULD say to women, but never actually do, except in songs, and in most cases those songs are probably written by women anyway...

I see you:
The way your smile doesn’t simply appear on your face;
it grows, spreads, rises like the sun.
The way you toss your head to get your hair out of your eyes,
flicking your tresses back in a deep pleasure that you don’t even notice.
The way you move with unselfconscious grace,
suddenly becoming clumsy when you notice me seeing you.
The way your eyes take in everything around you,
focusing on that which pleases you, dismissing that which does not.
The way your emotions are plain on your face,
yet the cause of your moods is still an unsolvable mystery.
The way your face glows and your eyes brighten
because you are happy to see me when I come home.
The way you move to let me know you want me
without ever saying a single word.
The way your skin becomes flushed and your breath quickens
when I put my mouth to your breast and gently suck.
The way your body responds to my touch in sensuous waves,
arching your back and writhing beneath me in ecstasy.
The way your body trembles and your muscles quiver
when you are in the midst of the orgasm I brought you to.
The way your love pours out of your soul into mine,
a tangible, fragile, powerful, all-encompassing force
that brings me to my knees.
I watch you.
I know you.
I love you.

I see you.

I feel very fat today...

Control

I want to be eaten by wolves
With jaws slavering foam
And eyes red-rimmed with stars and love.
Or bears, moss covered and rough furred
With clean slashing claws and tender savage hunger -
Rending my flesh with purpose.
Or monsters from the darkness,
Cheerful and insane with death addled dreams,
Whispering endearments of blood
And warmth.
But the only monsters I have
Are the monsters inside me:
Chromosomes and genes
Dancing in eternal mockery.
Twisting my body and my mind to match their frenzy,
Holding me hostage to parentage,
Helpless and hopeless,
In holy hatred of what I am –
Who I am.
I can feel the corpse I’m encapsulated in
Plotting each fleet footed moment:
Gaining strength to pull me down
And bury me in ignominious defeat.
I want to die with teeth in my throat
And claws eviscerating me gracefully.
But I know how I will die…
Stunned, with only a shocked and soft
“oh.”

As-tu un nom? Moi non plus.

Wow. hungover. wishing my head would just get it over with and fall off. but got my my first comment on a post. woohoo! Thanks Calzone! Sorry my poetry caused you to go mad, but you know... you'll have that.

Proof that drinking and typing don't mix...

And all I can do is cry
for wanting you.

All I can do is cry
for needing you.

I don’t even know who you are
you’re a voice
a picture,
a song.

And all I can do is cry
and feel you in my mind.

All I can do is try
to reach with my words.

I don’t even know where you are:
you’re around the world
around in time
around with her.

And all I can do is cry.

I see the way you move,
the way you sound,
the way you are.

And all I can do is cry.

All I want to do is touch you
and feel you touch me.
I want to hold you
and feel you love me.

I see you
all of you:
Your face
your force
your very life

This is what I need
to dry

my tears.

And all I can do is cry.

Lot's of people play the guitar.
Why the fuck does it turn me on so much when you do it?

And all I can do is cry...

jesus i'm drunk now

I just want to say that music is an incredibly important part of me and I hate it that I can't sing for shit and that I can't play a single instrument. I hate that I love and need music, but it wants nothing to do with me. But hey, par for the course, right. fuck.

Your Body

The sight of your body enflames me,
enslaves me,
makes me senseless:

The curve of your cheek
resting against my palm;
the look in your eyes makes me gasp.

Skin so soft as to make flowers weep –
makes my mind go numb for joy.
The dip of your waist
into the swell of your hip,
echoes the fullness of your breasts;
echoes the fullness of my heart.

The fall of your hair:
curling tendrils to capture my fingers,
to capture my lust.
Your scent breaking in waves
filling the space between us with your heat –
our heat.

The rising desire in your eyes
fills my body
hardening me
raising me
maddening me:

I can barely touch you with my hands
for wanting to crush you to me
I can barely put my lips to your skin
for wanting to bite you
consume you
make you part of me.

the violence of my lust
the burning of my desire
mounts into tenderness
by the trust in your eyes
by the love in your eyes
by the passion in your eyes.

Your head falls back
exposing your throat to me,
throwing your shoulders back
exposing your breasts to me:
Your demanding submission
is more than I can withstand
and I lose myself in your body –
I know nothing but your body
once I am in your body
I am your body:
I become your heart
because you are my soul.

Do men even have a point of view?

I've grown tired of waiting for a man to come along who can even feel, much less express in words, the passion and the emotion which I'm longing for. So I decided to write to myself what I want a man to say to me. I'm not sure it's accurate. I don't know if it sounds like something a man might say, even while lust inspired, or if it just sounds like a passion filled lesbian, but I wanted to share it with the world. And oh yeah, Mom? I'm Bi. Deal.

This:

Since I learned of your existence
the word “love” has been in my vocabulary again.

For so long, I’ve been so cynical.
Cynicism is another word for entropy,
and entropy is another word for the death of the world.

So to say you have brought me back to life
would not be a misstatement
or even an exaggeration:

merely an observation
of the magic that you prove.

Yeah...I suck.

I don't know if it's obvious from the quality of the posts and the poems, but I'm recently in love. And, oh my love... It's so nice to feel this way again, even if it's not real. I've had so much shit in my life, so much non-sensible bullshit, so much hatred and self-loathing (thus the theme of the blog comes in) that I wondered if I would ever feel the longing for another again. And while the pain is exquisite and the hope is devastating, I just live for the touch again. I want so much to be touched again. oh, I so should not be allowed to drink and type. This is where regrets begin, I know it. Nothing good can come from so much bourbon...

When: A Round: Instructions

1.)“When was the first time you felt loved by me?”
20.)When I was born I felt your existence and that’s when I cried.

3.)“When was the first time you saw me in your dreams?”
2.)When I knew pain when you were apart from me.

5.)“When was the first time you felt my pain?”
4.)When I saw the stars and I knew that they were real.

7.)“When was the first time you cried for me?”
6.)When the distance between us was great and time was eternal.

9.)“When was the first time you hated me?”
8.)When I felt the pain you knew you could inflict

11.)“When was the first time you needed to touch me?”
10.)When you refused to see your beauty.

13.)“When was the first time you wanted to hurt me?”
12.)When I saw your scars and I wanted to heal you.

15.)“When was the first time you called my name?”
14.)When your need was too great for me to bear.

17.)“When was the fist time you felt my love for you?”
16.)When I existed only between the stars.

19.)“When was the fist time you cried for loving me?”
18.)When I am, and you are.

mother-fuckin'-son-of-a-bitchin'-bastard-cock-sucker

OK, I can't get the fucking blogging software to post in the poem in the fucking format I want it to be in, so in deference to all my loyal readers (thanks, Mom) I am posting instructions for the preceding poem for how and, more specifically, in what order the lines are to be read. I'm such an innovator. Let the joy begin!

When: A Round

When: A Round

“When was the first time you felt loved by me?”

When I was born I felt your existence and that’s when I cried.

“When was the first time you saw me in your dreams?”

When I knew pain when you were apart from me.

“When was the first time you felt my pain?”

When I saw the stars and I knew that they were real.

“When was the first time you cried for me?”

When the distance between us was great and time was eternal.

“When was the first time you hated me?”

When I felt the pain you knew you could inflict.

“When was the first time you needed to touch me?”

When you refused to see your beauty.

“When was the first time you wanted to hurt me?”

When I saw your scars and I wanted to heal you.

“When was the first time you called my name?”

When your need was too great for me to bear.

“When was the fist time you felt my love for you?”

When I existed only between the stars.

“When was the fist time you cried for loving me?”

When I am, and you are.

I know you

I wish I could crawl inside your skin
And wrap myself around your heart.
I wish you could crawl inside me
And feel what I feel
So you know that I know you;
To erase all doubt
And all fear
And to leave only wonder:
Childlike, thunderstruck wonder
At the beauty of it all.

Two Voices

I’ve bled a lot
And it all comes out the same
It’s good (god) to bleed
But I don’t bleed anymore
And I don’t do it
Like I did it
And I don’t feel

What I felt}

{Oh god to feel!

The love and the passion
I felt!

And I don’t know what I’m supposed to teach you
And I want you to know it’s ok to cry
And hurt and hate(
And I’m such a bed woman)

And I’m such a bad woman ( the difference in sex and fucking(
because oh it’s so nice when you aren’t! and then to do it and do it! And
)and making love is subtle)

Oh the women! and the men! and it’s so nice to be so sexy! And

And lick your lips in anticipation of your love
And your carnal pleasure…

Ignore what they say
It
s
go(o)d to be that close
)close(

oh darlings, fuck and lust and touch each other…..

oh! (I need to tell you to have fun!)

and

[oh oh how i love!!}

love.

Sorrow can be red

I have a vein in my chest:

It crosses from the notch in my throat

All the way to my shoulder and

Down.

A blue-green line of life

On my left,

It stands out plainly against translucent flesh;

My thin skin showing well

The pulse of my heart.

It has always been there,

This rampant showing of reluctant life,

And sometimes when I see it now

I think of you.

The last time we spoke –

Oh god, what a fool I made of myself!

I don’t even rightly know what I said.

I only remember you wanting to go,

And the flush of shame was already climbing my face:

My heart insistent on blaring humiliation

While my mind was lost in a stupor.

I know you forgive me my transgressions –

Only because you always do –

But I still want to slice that vein in my chest

And bleed out all my shame and humiliation

Until you know that I am sorry.

But hey, at least I didn't get fired from Desperate Housewives

I'm in pretty much the same mood I was in last time; Feeling trapped and powerless and queerly uncertain of reality. Am I the only one who goes through the occasional bout of insanity, wherein you are shocked to realize that other people are real and have their own thoughts and feelings that have nothing to do with you, that they in fact barely even register your existence, the same way most of the time you barely register theirs? So shocked in fact, that it can cause a moment of vertigo as your hold on reality slips a notch? Or am I just a self-absorbed, egomaniacal twit? I'm going to operate under the assumption that the latter is true, because I just don't feel like dealing with a psychotic break right now. I'm too tired.

C’est pas ta faute

it’s not your fault
when the rain comes down
when the blood pools in the gutter
when the fist strikes already shattered bones.

it’s not your fault
when the world makes no sense
when trust is rewarded with hatred
when love is skewered and killed as a dreaded thing.

it’s not your fault
when books are burned
when information is forbidden
when people are kept in perpetual ignorance.

it’s not your fault
when stones fall with force
when women are killed for loving
when gang rape is ordered by courts as justice.

it’s not your fault
when small eyes cry
when infants are raped and sodomized
when it’s worse for them to not be killed.

it’s not your fault
when the sun comes up
when a child cries at finding herself still alive
when misery and pain are the best she can expect from the day.

it’s not my fault
that the world is slipping away
that you feel any guilt or pain at my words
that you feel nothing at all...

Who the hell knows

Well, obviously this isn't going to be an everyday thing, or even (apparently) an every week thing for me. Just when I think I've got my shit together and I going to start to be positive - WHAM! I'm knocked back down again and all I want to do is sit and stare at the walls while listening to the most depressing music I can find. Riots in France (two weeks!), death toll rising fast in the middle east, Bush still in the White House, and it's so hard to find anything good happening anywhere in the world. And all I can do is sit and wonder why everyone is so filled with hate. Remember Rodney King? Obviously, I don't know the man, but I was wondering today... Remember when he said "Can't we all just get along?" and we all (you know you did too) made fun of him for it? Why did we make fun of him for saying that? Why was a plea for peace such a foolish idea? Was it just the semi-whiney half-crying tone he used (or at least, that's how I seem to remember it) that set everyone off, or was it the concept itself? Really, was the sentiment so worthy of our derision that the mocking still lives on? Seriously, go up to anyone and say "can't we all just get along", and you'll be met with gales of laughter. Why CAN'T we get along? Why is everyone so mad at each other? And why can't I do anything about it?