Oh, you.

Waiting for your silent breath to touch my ear.
The tickling of your sweet whisper, bending the hairs in a huge gust within,
Pleasures me.
Your lips slide, brushing my earlobe
Then my neck.
Shivers overcome the flesh with cold as your warm tenderness
Forces itself upon the surface
Swimming through my blood
Beating within my long-cold heart.
Arms around my waist
Your fingernails dig into my pale hide
Burrowing with the urgency of a caterpillar working its way out of a cocoon.
I bleed in ecstasy
Moaning in bitter-sweet pain
And you latch onto me with your pearly whites
Biting like a wild thing that knows no civilization.
I yearn for the pain it causes
The euphoric sensation eating away at the edge of humanity
My innards turning to butterflies at the sight
Of your immortal face.
Arching my back towards your chest
Screaming with the violence of a million souls drowning in hell
The release of the world commences.

This is the Present

You say that I will move on.
You say that it won't matter in the future.
Well, right now I'm living in the present.
Things are not right now.
Yeah, maybe I'll forget about it in the future
But I'm feeling it and remembering it right now.
I hate things.
I really do.
And you never know.
You never ever seem to know.
Why do you not question?
Can you not see things the way they are?
You put on your rose colored glasses
And your fancy blinders
And you inhibit your sight and view.
Nobody listens.
No one....

Read Me

I am open to you
Like that brown, leather-bound hardback
That waits on your "to read" shelf.

My job is to get you to read me
Open me
Lavish in my thick words
And tumble through emotions.

It has been so long
Since you picked me up
And I miss the enjoyment I get
From having your warm hands
Brush my pages with rapture.

I try to entice you with my gilded edges
My scrawling, beautiful print
My flow of words like music
But my charm has faded
And like everyone else
You have forgotten me.

So I lie in wait for you
And you alone
To receive my presence again
To cherish my rich, well worn scent
To caress my edges that are slightly torn
And to feel your breathe upon me when you fall asleep on top of me
For right now I stand alone on your shelf.

Memorization

This here is a poem that I have to memorize by the day after tomorrow:

Windigo

By Louise Erdrich

The Windigo is a flesh-eating, wintry demon with a man buried deep inside of it. In some Chippewa stories, a young girl vanquishes this monster by forcing boiling lard down its throat, thereby releasing the human at the core of ice.

You knew I was coming for you, little one,
when the kettle jumped into the fire.
Towels flapped on the hooks,
and the dog crept off, groaning,
to the deepest part of the woods.

In the hackles of dry brush a thin laughter started up.
Mother scolded the food warm and smooth in the pot
and called you to eat.
But I spoke in the cold trees:
New one, I have come for you, child hide and lie still.

The sumac pushed sour red cones through the air.
Copper burned in the raw wood.
You saw me drag toward you.
Oh touch me, I murmured, and licked the soles of your feet.
You dug your hands into my pale, melting fur.

I stole you off, a huge thing in my bristling armor.
Steam rolled from my wintry arms, each leaf shivered
from the bushed we passed
until they stood, naked, spread like the cleaned spines of fish.

Then your warm hands hummed over and shoveled themselves full
of the ice and the snow. I would darken and spill
all night running, until at last morning broke the cold earth
and I carried you home,
a river shaking in the sun.

The Second Day

It's time to change things up.
It's a new day.
Today I feel small within this vast world.
Like an ant...so easy to be crushed...vanquished without a second thought.
I pose a question:
What happens to an ant's soul when you squish it?
Or:
Do ants have souls?
I hope I have a soul.
I believe I do...but who can know.
Maybe we are all just machines for our body.
Once the thinking is not needed,
The thinking part is destroyed.
What a sad proposition.
Melancholy is a better word.
Sad isn't deep enough.
To be soulless...
I always think of death a little too deeply.
I scare myself with the inevitable.
It keeps me up at night sometimes.
I cry myself to sleep believing that no one is there.
No one remembers you after so many generations.
Not unless you are someone great, revolutionary.
I fear being forgotten.
I fear being alone when I die.
I need help through that process.
In a movie I saw it said, "Everyone dies alone."
Alone within yourself.
I think I may always be alone within myself.
Only two people have come close to breaching the boundary.
The boundary of callousness I use as protection.
One more than the other.
The first broke me....the second seems to pretend he is not breaking me....hopefully he won't.

Okay.
Enough rambling.
The rest of the life story is soon to follow.
Just...not yet.

Does Anyone Hear Me???

alone

Some Pictures I Have Saved

I love you, beautiful blue, hanging on my wall. Words crisscross along the page in your bright color and I, I love it. They take the edge off the harshness of reality and the feeling of hate that seethes. Blue of freedom and of sky and intelligence and of you. I miss you and the butterflies.


My striped socks are screaming at me and I don't know how to control it! The black and white static knocks my eardrums upon the bone and blood pours to the newspaper floor. I try to hold it in for both your sake and mine.

I defy the laws made. I go against all odds. The government fears my quiet anarchy and knows not how to control and contain it. Smiling in the face of fate, I watch as they try to cut my titanium bound thread.

Come back to me, my rainbow. The dearest friend yet and the love of my life. The days are gloomy without you and I fear the rain will always pour. To make the clouds sunnier, I do a dance in hopes that your smile will illuminate my sky.

The First

It's hard to get started.
The beginning is the most fearful of events.
Not knowing how to get the stone rolling,
Not knowing the actions to be taken,
Not knowing the words to be spoken,
Are the worst of the pains of life.

I, however, am ready.
Ready to start over in anonymity
And ready to begin a new chapter.
The future is not to be known at this point,
The outcomes can possibly be feared.
But I take the consequences as they come.

Don't ask me my name.
Nor my address, phone number, etc.
I don't want to be known.
Call me Gardenia.
Give me a nickname.
Whatever you wish.
One rule: don't ask and obey what little I ask of you.

More to come....
Maybe much more....or maybe just a goodbye.
Can't tell as of yet.