Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Once I fucked to all those classic indie songs

They now play on radio two

When they played on radio one

Or not on the radio at all

But in vinyl shops

But in the rooms of boys

I can’t make you stay

Drinking, to keep this sane

It’s the end of love

Faded looks starve the romance

Here I am crushed

Here you are a loathe memory

You were at my mercy

And for one brief moment we composed a melody

Of sorts

Minor and major crescendo

Dusted from my mind

This space, stale sweat burning holes

I fill up on wine and you fill up on wine

I need to find a part of me

To be my saving grace

You make me feel, that’s why I am happier without you

I’m always played out on the down days

Watch me leave

Your life goes on

Mine shrivels a little more

Someday, you find the real thing

I find the isolation lying next to you

Would it be me you are thinking about

Each time you slide wetly into another her

Who doesn’t quite fuck with such desperation?

Who dances to your beat?

Has a warmer touch, a deserving fuck

Dresses to please you, puts on the whole show

You find the real thing

I find the isolation lying next to you

Waiting for you

Waiting for you to watch me leave

Waiting for you to wait for me to stand still

In the dirt, and call you my own

To be washed away

Inside out I leave, you watch

Someday you find the real thing

I come back for a little more

Your life goes on

A pulse where I belong

There is a reason that you can’t call a woman a cunt

Unless you are a woman

That reason that poisons bitch, whore, slut

Dripping venom from lips

That bind and shackle with honey sweet words

That word spat with sweat and exertions unwanted

That word whispered under cover of darkness

Heavy, leaden, fear scarred excitement

Those words bitten through lips, blood dressed

Those words ingrained in thinking, in impression

Those words stifling, hesitating, controlling

There is a reason that you can’t call a woman a cunt

Unless you are a woman

That every vigilant reason

That wary, perched, poised for action

That flinching, spittle covered word

Uttered in cold empty places

Into tired, cold, empty faces

That one word

That says it all, can you hear it?

Echoing in fading memories

We are the goddess within

Through slightly soiled purified

Anti-bacterial, anti-hysterical, Antichrist laced

Gel packs and wax work smoothness

We, the goddesses walk amongst the mere mortal

Dish soap soaked mere goddess

Embrace the sun

Let the warmth reflect from those gleaming sink taps

Untarnished and never disappointing

No water marks on this old bird

When the world tilted, and tied screaming to metal lifting bars

Chemical induced, intimate nature apprehended my goddess

Tied her into small knots, rivulets of turbulence not nearly strong enough

To save this goddesses mind, which crumbled, like the calorie laden rejoicing

Of binge eating desperation.

Sea side, the now mollified shadow goddess wanders, looming piers, smooth stones

Forgotten virginity discarded, freedom civilized

From breast to cock, swallowing that which sustains position

Swallow, smile, the goddess is sated on pillage

Of insatiable

Desires

Validity

Narcissism

This is a story, a pained sigh in the housing of a page.

A hundred pair of rolled eyes have bound this.

Left it sealed as tight as that hidden box of intellect that small girls pack away with the sound of the plastic rustling on their first padded bra.

It’s a stark view, the female mind to the outside

What do you contribute?

Encasing your mind in concrete, lest it be discovered and picked clean.

Ten words

Ten short moments

Ten ways to not be raped

Ten ways not be beaten beyond what you deserve

Ten ways to ensure that you are, after the age of ten, alive, dialled down, functioning and fully integrated.

Fucktoy                                Appreciative                      Pretty                   Muted                  Hesitant                               Chattel                 Accepting                            Sacrificing                            Forgiving                                                              Capitulating

From pigtails to rohypnol

This is the story of ten words to help you navigate, to fly under the dominating radar

To be the girl that is to be owned with a veil and a hymen intact, or at the very least a count under seven of previous owners.

A tale of ten small words to keep you small

To differentiate between Dolly and Doxie

Ho’ and Her.

Ten words preferable being fucked up the ass in an alleyway by a faceless stranger because he can and you can’t do a single thing to prevent it because you lost your way.

Distracted amongst the millions of words in the English language.

One Casualty

You, I, there is no feelings here

You are built on a construct of lies and invention

I, have no capacity for warmth

Once upon a time I was punished with some extremely bad prose

Rhyming out my failings at great length

I am sure you can improve on this auto-biographic nightmare of confusion

And twisted pride than you are subjecting me to.

After all, I didn’t pluck you out of the crowd for your looks

Or Prize winning personality

It may not have been for your breath-taking intellect

But yet… I hold out hope that you can do more than

Lament and attract flies

Throw and crush and maul

Am I the only place you can relieve your pain

I know your taste, I can’t supply this fix

You can buckle down this cunt and rip and envy

I met you, this mess I bring

You have an impossible dream that I will feel

Your slamming door being the moment of realisation

They leave the same way, unwitting, controlled

Don’t change, I have been here all these years

Drem

Write, Art, Heal & Inspire

Rebellious Scapegoat

Refuse to conform

Literature Is My Porn

"She read books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live."

THE POET BY DAY

Poets, Poetry, News, Reviews, Readings, Resources & Opportunities for Poets and Writers

Writing Through Trauma

Post-traumatic Growth and Fiction Writing

SAINTSWEST

Just my thoughts for all to behold

sheila sea

like thalassic velvet

laumarl

small, loud, full of words

ultimatemindsettoday

A great WordPress.com site

Faded Seaside Mama

The Pondering of a Confessional Poet

Logical Quotes

The Pondering of a Confessional Poet

A Narcissist Writes Letters, To Himself

A Hopefully Formerly Depressed Human Vows To Practice Self-Approval

Thomas

Photo, writing.. and other things exploring my mind

thoughtstarspirit

Poetry for your mind

Pix to Words

Image ~ Inspiration ~ Insight

Catharine Beaton

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back

Ordinary Average Thoughts

Confounding expectations since 1963…

Selected Essays and Squibs by Joseph Suglia

The Web log of Dr. Joseph Suglia

Rain Desert Review

Words Are Rain Upon The Desert