I was told that i seem to express myself a lot easier through my writing, which, as of late, is quite true.
Anger and resentment, love and dangerous lust fueling the will of my pen...
This piece is evidence of such. It was written a few of months ago in response to a situation that had reached its limit...
The Door…
I can not seem to shake this constant desire to fulfill such an immoral fantasy.
I want him in my life and wrong or right, I won’t let up until he appears at my door
Arms outstretched ready to love me into submission, or fuck me into submission…
Which ever comes first.
AND burying these feelings or hiding my truths would be cowardice and completely out of character.
So I wear it on my chest. A scarlet letter (only green because that’s my favorite color)
A badge of dishonor and shame. Mental mutilation brought on by turbulent tribulations.
Killing myself with empty expectations.
Shit’s exhausting.
AND I am finding myself defined by a man rather than defining myself by the love that I truly am.
BUT the way he pulled me in that night at my door had me open, willing, and ready to explore every facet of WE
So I blame him for giving even the slightest inclination of an open invitation to
“come on in but close the door”
Because this tiny indiscretion was ours and ours alone.
AND every word that he spoke (or wrote because he rarely called) was like music to my ears (or my eyes although the eyes don’t hear)
SO I jumped in head first neglecting to read the fine print
I wasn’t trying to dissect his dialect
I was too busy falling in and letting go
Holding on to every syllable that pierced my soul.
THEN a change in disposition caught my full attention
HIS mental deviation left me in an awkward position.
While all I wanted was to kiss him
Grab a hold of him fuck the shit out of him and keep it moving…
As friends
Because wasn’t that his plan for me?
To screw me up against the wall repeatedly
Having his way with me physically, mentally, and emotionally
Bruising me?
BUT he did say he didn’t want to fuck me too hard because after all, I am fragileThe delicate flower that he wanted to devour…
Or was that my peach?
Either way it doesn’t matter because right now he’s far beyond my reach
And his formless thoughts are thoughtless and absent of any traces of me
AND the pieces of me that he stole are irreplaceable
As are the indelible whispers he left in my ear.
SO here I stand naked as the day I was born
Cloaked in confusion and shame
Praying for the day that I forget his name
And that door is just a distant memory.
Today I got the message, "Are You Alive?". And for a brief moment a breath of fresh air so invigorating made me feel high. I was surprised to get another message from her as if she had forgotten about us or the fire we once had and we both longed to ignite once again had died. I wondered if she still cared, if she still wanted me as much as she did months ago. If she is still open for me to come in. I wonder if my pursuit if her love and affection is feeble now. I wonder If she has made amends with the other dude. I wonder if it was all game for her to keep her options open. I wonder if she would let me wrap my arms around her and let me give her my passionate yet masculine energy so she can feel what I say to her is real. I wonder if she still wants me to fuck her into submission. I wonder if she will still surrender herself to me totally and completely. I wonder if she knows that I am not just me but I am US. I wonder if she knows that I do care for her. I wonder if she knows that this distance between us frustrates the shit out of me. I wonder if she knows my world domination would not mean anything if I dont have her how I want her. I wonder if any of this matters to her anymore....
ReplyDelete