Soon as I get home (I’ll Tell the Story)
Mama--
as soon as I get to you, I'll tell you all about my troubles.
As soon as I get home. It seems so far away, and you seem so distant-- but I wait for the day where I can tell you about my life, as it was.
I'll tell you of the cancer, I'll tell you of my first love, I'll tell you of my pain, I'll tell you of my joy, I'll tell you of my heart and my soul.
I'll tell you of my marriage, I'll tell you of my children! I'll tell you of my desires! I'll tell you of my tears! Mama!
When I get Home! I'll tell you of the victories! I'll tell you of the failures! I'll sit at your feet and while you listen, I'll tell you my favorite song!
Mama! Why is Home so far? Your call is near my heart.
When the Crown of Eternity dons me new Life, and I join the chorus of my ancestors! I'll tell the story! I'll tell you the story as soon as I reach
Home. Mama.
:pain
how do I feel?
like shit.
how do I describe it?
like a hand covered in rock-salt rubbed itself on a deep, open, infected wound.
like, I scraped both my knees, while losing my shoes and having the kneel down to get them; with a sidewalk covered with tiny, sharp pebbles.
miniscule paper cuts on every part of my body.
I've broken my foot, but have no crutches, and have no choice to walk a mile to any. And
arthritic in the winter time.
#depression #pain
Alone.
Forever in the dark I’ll wander without a purpose.
I... Seem to meet nothing but darkness. The hope I once had is long gone and I— don’t feel the warmth I once did when I was young.
I was too trusting. My heart never closes— it’s erubescent glow flashed metronomically, “OPEN”, while the windows of my souls were laid bare behind the rain-coated glass. I would stare out, looking for those who would cater to me kindly.
I was too loving. Every part this being went to others. I gave myself up—an offering to those who didn’t deserve even an ounce, not even the tiniest inkling of kindness.
Every compliment met with contempt much to my dismay. And I am the only one to wonder why I can’t fight the lonliness of being the only one that gives a damn.
I’m... always alone. Always. Always. Always. Always...
#mercy
I can do it better. (Much better than you)
Whoever told you that I couldn't was dead wrong.
I'll do it better than you ever could.
I'll take my body higher, higher than you ever would.
My legs wrap around the night sky, arms outreached to the stars,
The sun kisses my lips, and I melt into a mushy mess.
A shadow of the daytime I once embraced so calmly,
A wild animal—husky grunts, my breasts clasped in my arms.
Better than you ever could.
My bed holds me better than you could ever dream of.
I sink into dreamy caress, moans into the darkness,
Mm—ohh there's never been anything greater.
I bit my lip so hard, I felt my heartbeat.
I gritted my teeth so strongly, the blood pulsed through my veins.
I struggle through hoarse breath, take it higher.
Much higher than you could.
My skin glows pink, extravagant fervor, take me deeper.
Whoever said, "I'll take you to heaven", didn't have the same heaven as mine.
Because mine is higher than yours.
Fingers dance around my body,
I can't... keep... still...
I—feel more... more than you ever could.
I feel it all... even, this one moment, where my breath
Holds...
And I... I can't take it anymore.
#fever #feeling #prose
The Failure in my head.
“It’d be much better if you were dead.”— that’s what she told me.
And every day, night, and hour; the failure in my own head seeks to reap me of her “harvest”.
When I am walking across a rusty bridge on a cool, spring morning;
where the air is just right, the sky dipped baby-blue, dribbled with white high clouds that dance across a peaceful sky: the smell of the blossoms riding along the wind, with petals taking flight, some falling to sparkling water below.
And there she goes:
“You’d be better off, careening off this bridge.”
And, sickeningly, I believe her.
My suffering enduring for what seems to be forever, with a future that is nothing but a bleak point in existence, even if I will have one,
I believe that when she tells me that I am nothing but a momentary speck in time and space,
that I’m nothing but an empty socket, for some to plug up and shut down,
And that if I die, I will be just as everyone else, remembered: and then forgotten.
the failure in my head, speaks so fucking clearly.
”You’d be better off.“ with a soft chuckle at the end of her words, “If you just didn’t exist at all.”
#poetry #depression #struggling #feeling
Falling in Love (With the Wrong Man)
—Falling in love with you never felt so damn satisfying.
Tell me: how did it feel, knowing that, unconditionally I'd love you better than I'd love myself? How did it feel, knowing that you took me to places I'd never even dream of? For a moment, just a moment, I thought I knew what it was; what it meant to finally get the "love" I'd desired in my tiny 16-year old body. For a moment, I thought that you were the "one and only" that my parents would coo and gawk at, drooling incessively at this dreamy disposition of the concept I wanted to learn about vehemently.
Really, these were the thoughts I had running through my mind. Fire in my bones, firecrackers going off in my head, this dripping, oozing heat: a crippling devotion, to get down on my knees and beg you for the "love" I so easily gave to you.
"Please," gasping the word, my chest felt tight, a steel vise gripped my lungs with such force. "Take me!"
And, happily—slyly, with a gritty smirk on your face: you obliged. My body had no choice to obey to your every whim. Ooh, I wished you could take me deeper. Deeper and deeper until I gave into your slightest command. The darkness in the room enhancing my senses. I felt your movements, your labored breathing, the tiniest contortions; how you didn't understand that I wanted you. Or, maybe you did. That was your plan.
In my ignorance, you understood my passions. My wants and my very needs. You dipped your words in the smoothest honey, it tasted so sweet to you—you knew what you'd do to me. Oh, you fucking devil. I should've known.
The greatest sex, ended with my own feelings unanswered. You knew how to grind in me, you knew how to make the cream flow from in between those steaming legs. The sweat leaving me only followed your demands. You knew me.
The wrong man, had never felt so right.
#romance #love #prose #feelings
Faceless Woman
Yesterday, before the week began, you showed up in my presence.
I should've been happy—joy should have found its way erupting in my being with songs of jubilee, singing "Oh Happy Day" when the day came where your face met with my own. I should've felt every muscle twinge and pop as a grin shifted its way across my cheeks, rosy; filled with the exuberance of knowing your arrival was wanted. My heart should have leapt with excitement; there should have been no room for disappointment, for I could have felt warmth. If my eyes weren't so deceiving, I would have noticed that my pupils grew bigger covering my mahogeny irises to see you clearly.
—I should have felt that...
But I didn't. When I looked at you, I saw absolutely nothing. Your mouth was nothing but a gaping hole in the middle of your face, eyes sunken and desperate for refreshment. Everyone in the room scrambled to bow to you! When I could not! For my feet would not move, and my mouth became dry. The words I wished to say stuck in my throat; a thick jello that slid with my saliva along the insides of my esophagus. For a moment I thought I should gather my wits. Though I was sound, sane—my mind knew. I knew.
A blank expression washed upon your figure. Bleak, lifeless, and grey. Oh, faceless woman, that haunts me in my dreams.
Why is it that I wish so much to know who you are? Though I know your being causes nothing but shame. Hurt, and agony. Don't come near me any longer. Everything bends to your will, but me, I am not mad. Insane in your tasteless embrace.
Leave me be.
“Lady-Like”
—I'm sorry. Where are my manners?
I shouldn't have belched in public like that, it makes me look like such a pig. And, while the male counterpart, does the same thing; scratching his balls, and stroking his slightly, higher than average egotistical bravado with less-than subpar masculinity—I am called everything underneath the God-given sun; all for a simple... *burp*.
—Jeez, I'm such a slut right?
For shamelessly enjoying what I do most, giving my body to the males I willingly give it to, only for the sake of my orgasm—I am called 'whore'. Although, just the other night, I recall some men engaging in sexual acts with a female, prematurely ejaculating all over her face while she writhed in esctasy, breathing out husky cries much to her jubilee; yet, they are called—how do you say it? "Players". They are the MVPs of the patriarchal stomping ground, the alpha males.
—I probably shouldn't have said such a strong word, shouldn't I?
Because you know, saying things like "fuck", and "shit", are such dastardly things for such a wonderful lady! However, on the other hand... your son who is nearing thirty, just reached for his twelfth can of Millers Lite, all the while cussing and spitting expletive after expletive, showing no care for the woman that he lives with; his mother. So strange isn't it?
To anyone who thinks there's such a thing as being "lady-like" in a world where men continue to be praised for egregious acts?
Fuck you.
A Love Letter to My First Time—(With you)
—I'm already on my third cigarette.
I could've sworn that I stopped smoking months ago; that I'd finally beaten the temptation of burnt taste-buds and fried brain-cells. The addiction that nearly killed me so long before has slowly found its way seeping in the crevices of my mind, the memories—repressed, so much so, that I've forgotten you in the dusty bookshelves of shit that I have stored—waiting eagerly to be examined upon by prying, deceiving eyes. Maybe it's because I wanted to taste it again. That eagerly tasteless feeling of being fulfilled that lead me to doing it in the first place. Or... maybe I just wanted you.
Don't think I'd ever forget.
When I walked into the room, there you were. Leaned back in a parlor chair, embers of Malboro ashes lining the floor beneath your feet. Even though it was dark, I do remember the faint silhouette that caught my eye as I peered through the door. You waited patiently for me to enter. The smell of your cologne caressed my nose, more than the fumes of your lit tobacco. When I closed the door, and you looked at me, mist spreading around my face—oh, I just knew—I knew what would happen. And I wanted it to. More than you'll ever know. Sometimes, I even think of the song that would play in my head as you stood up, fanfare erupting in my very being. My body was impatient. I wanted you to hurry and put that thing out. And let me in.
And when you did—believe me, when you did... my body was just like that cigarette.
You put your lips around me, and sucked the very essence from my fragile being. My skin was wet with your kiss. I would hiss in response, as you sucked me dry; the fire burning, raging within. Oh, I wished that you could taste me more. That I could become your needless addiction. To where every day, every evening, every night; you'd need me. You wouldn't live without me. That misty smoke was my every breath, leaving me, taking the life from me. You'd flick me, making sure the excess was never wasted. You savored me. I'd lay there while you take me on a wild journey of ecstasy. I was rocked beyond this world. I'd discovered paradise in your arms.
And when you were done, there would be nothing left. It went on and on, like this and like that. Hard and rough. Soft and sensual. You may think I'm insulting you but I'm not. I want you to know that... every time I light one,
I think of you.
Sorry for being your imperfect child;
I never felt good enough from the beginning. Although, showered in your praise and constant affirmation, my life is still dull and grey. Monochrome hours pass, and,
I feel absolutely nothing. My heart has no twinge, no ache nor pain—and what little "effects" I feel from my "happy pills" have been doing shit close to nothing. Every piece of my puzzle was lost to the ages, trying to figure out who was the real me and how I could get her back to achieve the happiness that... was once mine. Though, I may have smiled on the outside, my insides were like they are now: broken.
Shit, at least I tried. I tried making everyone else satisfied with the life I'd already given up on. Everyone else could wear a jovial grin, while my eyes were covered in despair, most of them watching as I slowly dissolved into nothing. Many times I wanted to jump off the roof of the building, and hope my brains scatter about below; or run into traffic, pleading for sweet release—but, getting nothing, except excrutiating, repressed memories that now mean something to me. Don't make those faces. Don't snivel and snort, with salty tears running down your scrunched up expression. Please, don't do this now. You're going to make me regret the decision I made.
Whether it was from a noose, or from a bullet wound, either way—I would end up here. The voices wouldn't relent, and the pill bottles were doing nothing but warping the reality around me. I dreamed of my assailants, donned in black, scratching and clawing my eyes out, leaving nothing but gaping, bleeding holes. Then when I awoke, the headaches from the night's endeavor gradually took over, forcing me to sleep again. Fuck this. Why are you all starting to care now? When I've already...
Died?