Infinite Mind Spasms

Extirpate all colors that dim your heart. Our primary life should not be the bleeding tint of hurt, but the blush of a warm chance with real people, not with the ones soaking in their shades of lies.They will fade!

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Emotional Vulva

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

Red-veined Sorrow

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.

Monday, January 13, 2014


She sits and thinks as Klimt sleeps on her walls, Red heads and patchwork read her love withdrawls. The writer's walls breathe coffee as poetry enters her womb, The labor of words push through her fingers from lead, Her heart is untold on her pillows and bed.

Thursday, January 9, 2014


My pain is a red rose with no intention of love, My heart is my relationship and lives outside a vase, my cup is not the Holy Grail, but my body is my god, I am my lover, my body is a flower.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013


Who is that blond girl, perched in the stamen tree? She sits and salts her apples, red, yellow and green. Why is she hiding on the highest branch? If she climbs any higher her dad will have her ass. Does she care to be caught in the skinniest of limbs? She is ten and pretty, Safe in the tree's wind. Did she ever fall for that biggest fruit? Apples saved her sanity and climbing saved her fall.

Monday, December 16, 2013


The time that I grew up in. Wait! I sound old or like my parents saying this. I suppose any time is a different time if it is not the present. Moving on. I was born at the very end 1976. I do not remember much until the 80's. My parents married as virgins, at least my mom did, dad not so sure. I would like to think so considering his preaching on no sex before marriage. Rambling again! Anyway! In my era, my parents did not believe in dating until I was eighteen, or wearing red or pants and sleeveless shirts. Thank god for the boys looking up my oldest sister's skirt in Christain school, or I would have had to wear dresses and skirts forever. The wearing red? I get it now. Although it is just a color, it held more meaning to my dad. Red used to represent wild or slutty. Prostitutes used to turn the red light outside their door when they were "open". I loved red. I guess it made me feel like a girl. I was not allowed to buy red lipstick or red nail color. My dad said it made me look wild. My mom said it was a whore color. No wonder I became a stripper! Well, I always found a way around things, as all children do. I painted my nails with red water color and painted over with clear polish. It worked. I didn't buy it. I used the same color on my lips, topping it off with a gloss. Yep, I improvised. Shorts and tank tops were a big no-no as well. My dad would make us bend over with our jeans to see if he could pinch an inch of the material. If not, we had to go change. I am pretty sure my mom burned some of our clothes. Just saying. Shorts? I would not call them that, they were more like bermuda shorts or gouchos in our house. They could not be above the knee, shorts or skirts.I found a way to wear them shorter. For the record, I started the jean shorts/skirts with tights. Yes I did! See, my parents did not want skin showing, so I did not show it! Some things had to be hidden though. After a while, I simply wore layers and changed once I left the house. It was less of a battle trying to jusify my right to bare/unbare clothes. As for dating, that is another story. Put it this way...I could not date until I was eighteen. I was pregnant and married at sixteen.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013


When my alarm opens my sleep and I have to brush my teeth, you stalk me with your words the moment I see my face. You never show me beautiful or give me a pretty day. You paint a wrinkled picture and tell me I am old. You give me fat I don't see, when I look down at my toes. I am not this monster who stalks me each morning I brush my teeth. You magnify my hips and add inches to my curves. You accentuate my thinking dent, that worries all my woes. My curves own me, my face is not for sale, beauty reflects my security so shine You inner worth!