Monday, September 20, 2010

for me this time

no shackles round these wrists
unwilling to allow ownership
to brand its burning iron into fleshy parts
counting and counting the days spent with only myself
to answer to
to reason with
i carved lines in prison walls
cut hopes into skin with fingernails sharpened by wit
trapped inside my own skin
insecurity blanket round neck like a noose awaiting a hanging
i am tired of feeling invisible
i have said over and over
no more self inflicted emotional wounds
to prove i feel?
were my tears real?
love masochistic means beating your head into a wall
but only for so long
until being a martyr for your cause
writes labels on your concert tee
screaming pathetic
over the amplified white noise
that lulls you into a quiet complacency
back handing me back to reality
i am stronger than i appeared to be

Friday, September 17, 2010


this person is not delicate
no bruised petals nor shrunken violets shrivelled up
buried - deep into the earth
do not go easy on skin
do not touch with a soft hand
without conviction
create caresses without
the ammunition
of leaving a lasting impression
This memory recalls days when proximity only would
send rippled electricity from ears to toes
indifference begs and trains for something
a bit rougher around the edges
tougher thicker skin
callused palms turned upward against my cheek
This person is not delicate
not to be babied
rocked back and forth with soothing lullaby lies
but to be embraced
with equal strength
with unafraid passion plays
bold and brazen and screaming from rooftops
I am here and real and will
push pull tug and scream back at you
this person is not delicate