Life is not a poem.
There is no reason to our twisted life's rhyme.
There is no system to our metaphors.
Our lips are enemies and friends--
one has a song, one stays mute.
Life is not a syllable,
No ball rolls when gravity is null,
no words speak--
Our lips are killers, healers in the same.
One speaks riddles,
one resolves the pain.
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
My days are full,full of emptiness. I think about death at least once a day, how would it differ than life. I don't want to die, but does death hurt like this hell on earth? Life without stress sounds like heaven. Stress has followed me like a tumbleweed, collecting burdens through the deserted years. My burdens are the past that I cannot brush off, a stain that will never wash out. What's worst than a broken heart? A bruised one,blackened from years of insults and dirty hands. A little girl trapped in a woman's body is a mistake, a curse,and what's this all for? What positive fate lies ahead for this entrapment? Will stories, I mean truths, unfold? How many hearts will be broken if this one heart explodes? How many bruises could I heal, or how many could I prevent? Maybe I will grow up when my truth is free.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Does your lips get lost in the midst of the blow? Do you miss the feeling or the lust you just felt? Do you think you are in love as rock bottom has reached you? Sometimes I think I may be a man, or think like a penis. I roll over with no emotion or sigh. I can say goodbye without a twinge in my clit. I can leave and not hear a goodbye. Am I heartless or simply separated from love? I have a heart, I have a body; I have emotion, but not in the vagina. Don't get me wrong, I am glad my inner walls don't create a heart, but most woman I know fall in love once they have been invaded. Maybe that's it! It is an invasion. An intruder! My mind has many doors, but no keys to be made; however, my heart is a chastity belt, whipped and broken. I don't know what love is, do I? What does it mean? Nothing means anything. Anything means everything when you can't let go. This vulva may give, but it can never be taken. No emotion in between these legs, only sighs with no religion.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Does evey girl/woman have a Tristen? Is every heart hopeless as Suzanna? Is her heart really alive when her love anticipates a dead end? I watched Legends of the Fall for the first time in years and once again it put me in a slumber. Yes, I allow movies to kidnapp me, or perhaps I surrender to them to wallow? Oh Suzanna! I feel her wait, her pain and even her suicide. If someone has ever loved past the blood in their veins, they will understand this excruiating emptiness of loss. Why does rejection hurt more than acception? Why can't we accept and move on? Physically we do. We love again, we move on, but do we truly live? To live with a empty vein is a cardiac arrest of the mind. To live without love at all is sorrow. To live without the "one" is torment. To love the unreciprocate is my red-veined sorrow.