No Wicked Indulgence

You.

You men.

You overestimate your worth

And underestimate hers.

You turn away from the Deep Blue Sea

As if your shallow pool of self

Is better.

The sharp bite of chlorine hiding the stench of

Your fear

And denial

That you are no better than she.

You have no idea what you have

In your hands.

Her.

The inadmissible alibi.

The unadmittable sin.

Too good to stay away.

Too bad to be seen.

Don’t be afraid.

Don’t be afraid.

She is better than you think

In ways you cannot imagine.

In ways you never considered.

No confession required.

Toss aside your notions

And your social limitations.

See the depth and expanse of

Who she is.

An ocean of curved flesh

And sharp, pointed mind.

Trigonometry beyond work of any mathematician.

She is the universe in

All its glory.

And you will never see but one corner of it

For your limited vision.

You and all the other of your ilk

And gender.

But as Galileo was solitary in his appreciation

Of space,

So will be the one who finally looks past.

Who has no fear.

It will be his gain.

And your loss.

And there will be no time machine to go back and

Lose face

Rather than losing your heart

And drowning in your puddle of

Pretention.

The price of Indulgence has

Just gone up.

And you…

You can no longer afford her.

I Am the Codfish

Hold it in.

Hold it back.

Until you can bear it no longer.

Take as much as you can.

Til you’re about to burst.

Then take some more.

It’s Tantric.

Like sex.

But without the enjoyment.

This.

My stress life.

More relevant than my sex life.

And certainly more abundant.

My work,

Like stress porn.

Pushing me farther to the edge.

Closer and closer.

So close. So close.

But the cliff dive has no bliss.

Only jagged rocks.

And a reasonable paycheck.

What kind of yoga is this?

The manipulation of the sacred mind

For the benefit of the trumped up guru.

Swallowing heap upon heap of

Garbage and rhetoric.

Tantric, my ass.

This is my stressful revolution.

Like the 1970s, with less bush

And more growth.

Cue the music.

Bom chicka wow wow.

End scene.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What He Remembered

A memory.

Torn from my book like an

unflattering picture.

It was broken.

And frightening.

And ugly, besides.

But you kept it.

A little scrap of fabric from a filthy and

shredded quit.

Underneath the grime

and the picked out stitches

you saw a coat of many colors.

So you kept it.

Not for blackmail,

or schadenfreude,

or a tear-jerking meme…

But because…

Well, i don’t know why.

I never asked why

you kept it.

The memories from then,

dark and underexposed,

that i left to rot in a basement

riddled with

black mold and rats..

You took your copy and put it in a safe place.

And when you showed it to me, it was

as if i’d found a baby tooth,

tucked away in a forgotten jewelry box…

You kept it as a souvenir.

And now i have it again.

A picture still unflattering.

A piece still broken,

and frightening,

and ugly, besides.

A scrap of a quilt once devoid of value…

Now a symbol of victory.

I can see it.

I see it because

You kept it.

For My Sister

Look ahead.

There is a light.

A bright and shining light.

They believe it’s Oz.

I say it’s a future ripe with possibility.

You worry it’s a train.

But i tell you this~

No matter how far away it looks,

How rough the tunnel pavement,

How nasty the stench of the sludge…

You will emerge in the light.

You who has toiled

And sacrificed

And found yourself hanging on tooth and nail

To the handrails…

You who never gives up.

It will pay off.

Just keep looking towards the light.

The end is coming.

Just keep going.

A few more steps.

You can do it.

Your life awaits

In the light.

 

Liberation

It’s time for contemplation,

A reconciliation

Of the past to the

Present

No more self-condemnation

For the things that i thought

Or the battles that i fought

In my head with the

Woman

Who detested what i sought.

She’s an echo in the dark

Of a much mistaken mark

Of what i thought a girl should

Be…

No bite and barely bark.

In contrast, this,  my Queen

Neither gentle nor pristine

In her crown of iron and

Fire,

With her truth and conscience clean.

She’s the one who makes me dance

Makes me sing and make romance

With myself without

Regard

For the other’s outraged glance.

Both inside me, always cross,

Blaming each for other’s loss.

With the chasm in

Between

Like a giant albatross

Hanging, broken, from my neck.

Like a mainsail on a wreck:

Or a  gypsy reading

Tarot

Using only half a deck.

But i’m done with it, i say!

There must be some proven way

To end the battle always

Raging;

Make the dark see light of day.

No more fighting twixt the two

For too long i’ve suffered thru

The dichotomy of

Womanhood:

The “Girls should” and the “I do.”

I am firm. I won’t give in

To some other’s views on sin.

I must sacrifice my damning

Self

For liberation to begin.

Break thru that rusted gate

Of venomous self-hate.

The Queen shall rule the

Echo,

And  as so, steer my fate.

 

Toddy

Fire

Inside my ears, and its fingers

Wrapped around my cranium like

An electric hairnet.

I can feel my pulse in my Occipital lobe,

A thundering base line to a  Klingon opera.

One drug. Two drugs. Three drugs.

Four.

To no relief. I beg the

Big guns…

Knife in my ear.

Sweet release.

Bash my brains in.

Sweet release.

Tase me. Tase me good. Tase me til i fall

to the ground and the pain

goes away.  Aah, sweet release.

But my hands cannot comply.

My head is swollen.

I cannot hear.

And my eyes beg for mercy with each lumen received.

Customer support sits in a Lucy stand

At the back of my brain and tells me

To reboot.

As if i haven’t thought of that.

That’s what the drugs were for.

But the pain continues and

I cannot take

The cage of nails surrounding my skull

Any more.

Any more.

No more.

Shaking and weak, i boil the water.

Eyes closed to block out light, i find the bag by memory.

I lift the bottle, its weight an anvil

Add the poison to my tea.

Sweet release, oh yes!

It lights a fire in my belly that competes

With the one in my head

And wins. My room is growing dark.

I cannot lift my head.

My body like lead.

Sweet release.

Thank God.

Sweet release.

A Matter of Kindness

They say that in the end

Only kindness matters.

Thank God

Since that’s all i have.

No wealth.

No face.

No stately grace.

But my heart and intentions

Are good.

 

In the depths of the Universe,

That counts for something.

I think.

I hope.

I hope against hope.

And still i hope some more

That i have the heart i want to have,

And not the one i likely do.

That i think of you

And not me.

 

They say that in the end

Only kindness matters.

And that is all i have.

But do i have enough to matter?

 

That is what matters to me.