Monthly Archives: August 2015

Your silhouette
Condensed darkness
On the eyes that I’m trying to meet


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First Gurus

My mother’s wrists

all vein and tawn

retaining the dawn of youth

in their tender slender bend


forearms of fawn

And I’m drawn

to these arms.

Her withering charms.

Seceding from harm

in her weakening form.

She’ll be torn

limb from limb from the devouring


As the acid begins to replace her with tin

(the resemblance sets in)

I am in this sad spin –

As I’m turning and lurching

and graveyard-to-churching

I’m perching on preaching

remember the teaching

that my left hand is my mother, and she was the first I ever had

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If It’s There, You can Stare

If you open the door, you can stare at my tits

And I’ll smile with doubt, because I’m too used to it.

Licking lips linger on my own fallen jaw

Your swollen sexuality hits me so raw

But it’s okay if you compliment and tell me I’m hot.

This mouth speaks and talks, but you’d rather it not.

But you could be my new master!

My hips slip so quick, but my brain’s even faster~

Marble eyes roll down my body, then back in your head

Would you rather I smiled and nodded instead?

I do not feel excited when I feel your hot breath.

Just my sick lunch returning – you disgust me to death.

This ladies and gentlemen game is fucked up

when you’re left feeling good and I’m found throwing up.

If I don’t play along, your arousal is shot,

but a sculpture for your perusal is something I’m not.

The crude tainted welcome when you beckon, “Come in”.

When did being a woman make me less of a human?

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