Lie down right here in my filthy room
Cover me with your powers to see right through
This careful facade and love of frivolous pleasures
This simple heart and mind that was once so clever
Now drained of the energy to reason clearly and to feel
Too weakened to determine your place in truth and surreal
And too frightened to ask if you are actually mine
Or are you holding onto my hand while biding your time
Enjoying the opportunity to take from me
What little I have left that I give to you
free

Smolder (sequel to Fire)

I would take it all away, blend your sorrows into mine
Mix them together and cry for you, too
make all the verses rhyme
I miss you when the weight of life takes you away from me
I’d kiss you but I retreat in fear, I run from what cannot be
I retreat from you, withdraw from your power; allow my heart to grow colder
Douse the fire with water’s shower, watch it die a yearning smolder

Day 4

I will chase you
I will run
I will fall; scrape and bleed
Hemorrhage all over your floor
Crawl through the opening of your door…
You speak and I remember what all the pain was for
It was you and him and him that have taken my soul away
You make me so afraid to
Make me feel ashamed to
Make me runaway, too

I just want to love you

Ready for Love/ Love Interruption

While on hiatus from casual sex I kind of accidentally took a break from dating as well. It’s a shame that in today’s society the two are often one and the same; in my world they are not. I have to force myself to date and HAVE to be around the opposite sex because my mojo is the first to go and I slip back into random awkwardness suddenly and memorably. I ran into the “main dude” I ambiguously dated (or whatever you would call it) and found myself nervous while talking to him. Shakiness, sweaty palms—the whole bit. What THE hell?! The same with this pretty young man with gorgeous long hair I met recently at a party—I had trouble being present and I found myself zoning out and/or saying random things.

I am a grown ass woman, like, kill me now! I can’t let this be my life at 29. I have got to grab hold of this and control it—I cannot go around fearing men and my interactions with them. I already have two children, I don’t want to have to invest in cats as well! I go back and forth between sorrow and shame when it comes to the courting process. If a man looks at me a montage of bullshit runs through my mind and immediately do not want to be bothered with the trouble of being approached by someone who is just going to fuck me over in a couple of weeks. I even find myself getting angry sometimes like, “OMG, of all the chicks on this metro train you’re looking at ME? I still have on old make up I haven’t refreshed since 7am this morning!!! Do better for yourself!”

The bottom line is I’m scared shitless waiting for the other shoe to drop. Someone please sweep into my life, wine me, dine me, make me adore you—then shoot me in the face flip me over and stab me in the back. Clearly, I’m ready to fall in love…

Video from: http://www.youtube.com/user/JackWhiteVEVO?feature=watch

Intertwine: A Tale of Casual Sex

ETC - Intertwine Image

Image from: atlantablackstar.com

I’m nervous but I’m calm. My breathing is even. My thoughts center around my stomach—I don’t want him to touch it. But you can’t censor others while in the throes of passion so I watch as his hand travels the length of my side, caresses around and finds my belly and squeezes the fleshy substance there. I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying something overly self-conscious and perhaps ruining the moment. I am calm on the outside but too shy and afraid to touch him just yet.

I usually like to offer a full body massage—it’s a way to familiarize myself with someone’s body for nonsexual purposes and it clears my head and relieves tension. There is something about the feel of someone’s skin underneath the palm of your hand or directly against yours that is enough to be a complete pleasure overload. But I’m not massaging, I’m being touched and the sexy, confident woman I felt like I was just hours before has disappeared. I’m on my back and I can’t keep my mouth closed. I’m loud and moaning and panting—the stuff of porn stars because I don’t believe in holding back or holding in. The stress of the day, of the weeks, all frustrations, loneliness, business, happiness are mixed together on that mattress and expelled into several ear rupturing howls.

I don’t know this man above me, on top of me, inside of me. I know his body now and how he feels. I know the hard lines of his flat belly and the sound of his breath against my ear and the feel of his soft wet mouth against my neck. I know the twinkle in his eye when he laughs at my jokes and I know he’s been hurt before and doesn’t want anything serious. We’re in the same boat that way—adults acting like children, afraid to connect with someone and afraid to attach only to be hurt and devastated by abandon. I’m not looking for a boyfriend, I’m not looking for anything; I am a liar. Spending time with him makes me more familiar with his soul and I find myself wanting in deeper. Fear paralyzes me and maybe him as well, so we give ourselves physically because we’re just so depleted emotionally. This is a mistake…

Desire robs me of free will. I’m in this thing now—can’t stop. I can’t decide if I want this but  I want this and I know I don’t need this in my life, but I need it now. My legs act independently—wrap themselves around his waist as he enters me. Absolutely.no.turning.back. I zone out at this point…my body finds its own rhythm and my mind becomes a random series of thoughts and phrases. No,  too soon, not enough, what next, how, when, yes, yes…YES!

Then it’s over and I comedown from the high. I lie in a pool of our sweat and my own euphoria. I am vaguely tense, aware that so much changes for a man after he ejaculates. Sometimes so much lies at stake in that one deposit of semen—out flows his desire for you, his urgency, his interest in you as a person. The ultimate prize has been collected, it’s time to go home. My eyes are wide open and I wonder how I allowed myself to change my view of sex so much that I am here in this place with this virtual stranger having shared so much of myself. I was a virgin until I was 20 and I feel like that hymen has since ruptured a thousand times. Sex used to be “making love” for me—now it’s an act of cowardice. A consolation prize. I can no longer give you my heart, it’s been shattered to pieces, but here; take all of my body instead. I will lie with you and listen to your dreams, I will stroke your naked body and your hair, admire your potential and believe in you, fall into you…in love with you—but I will never tell you.

I lie next to him, my body rigid and I’m close to tears. It must be so easy for a man to use women this way and have it mean nothing—I’m nothing! I feel myself give in to hysteria as I struggle not to unravel right before his eyes. My body stiffens even more as I feel him reach out and touch the small of my very naked back. His voice is unsteady and he trails his hand up the path of my back and up and up to cup my face, “I think I’m falling in love with you….”

The Craziest of These Is Love

Author’s Note: I wrote this as a guest blogger on my friend’s art blog about 18 months ago. I’ve been so beaten and bruised by love since then but my overall attitude hasn’t changed. Because of my passion and the way I live my life I know that whatever kind of love I have it will be unconventional…whatever the case may be I will not fear it.

I didnt want to write about this topic because I didn’t think there would be a way for me to mask the tone of my heavy heart. However, this is my foundation and the very reason I was drawn to Dali in the first place. The intensity and the complexity of Dali’s relationship with Gala appealed to me initially because it was such a foreign concept. How could a man so full of greatness and charm allow himself to be brought to his knees for the love of this insignificant woman? It wasn’t until I experienced this kind of rare, all-consuming love for myself that I was able to come to more of an understanding of the dynamic of their relationship.

Toward the end of their lives together, Gala’s numerous affairs with younger men began to take their toll on the relationship. In addition, her gambling habits and generosity toward these men put a strain on the pockets as well. Even in her eighties, Gala showed a resentment toward growing older, creating yet more tension–enough that she was now giving her husband drugs that led to the eventual breakdown of his nervous system leaving him unable to paint. Eventually Gala moved alone into a castle Dali had built for her, unseen unless upon written request. Still, when Gala passed away, the elderly painter embarked on a downward spiral struggling with depression. There were even a series of freak “accidents” that hint of possible suicide attempts. With his muse forever gone, was there any reason left to live?

It is a beautiful thing to simply fall in love. It is quite another to find your reason to live. All control is lost as you allow yourself to be poisoned, broken and lost yet unashamed of your shameless weakness. In the end, the intensity of the obsession proves to be maddening and a certain pathway to your psychological demise. You have found in this person the perfect blend between reality and illusion, and you refuse to be awakened from this dreamlike state. A glitch in the system has been discovered that allows you to somehow exist in this world and be able to escape to a parallel universe with this person. A utopia where each other’s flaws don’t exist and it doesn’t matter if this person is draining everything from your life’s force. In that world, dull moments are extinct and no tomorrows are the same. You have given in to complete insanity making the complexities of common love totally void. By giving in to this kind of love you have given in to destruction.

Memento mori, my friend! Destruction is inevitable. Endure the pain, suffer all consequences, and take all risks for a love most surreal. Drink heartily of the poison, and before you do, look your muse in the eyes and say “cheers”!

For Someone That’s Afraid to Love

In another life, I refused to be driven by fear and I experienced great suffering because of it. However, I was never quite sure how to live any other way. For all of my folly, for all of the devastation I have been so slow to recover from, I was never sure I would do things much differently. And therein lies the rub that contributed to my eventual demise.

For whatever reason I couldn’t release the hope in the feel of finally getting things right. I could almost taste the bliss of finally taking a chance and reaping extravagant reward from a person who understood and appreciated what it is I had to offer. Though I understood the concept of fear, I could never allow myself to be driven by it and I could never encourage others in it. I used to believe that in making ourselves vulnerable to one another we are able to find our freedom. I always wanted to dive in; consume and devour. I always wanted to taste, touch, feel everything, savor everything, believe in everything. I can’t do it this time—this time something has happened to me. I am naked and exposed, I’m no longer free in it. I used to be able to see the beauty and potential in most things, now I can only scout out inevitable pain.

It was a slow change that took place in me while I wasn’t paying attention to myself. A friend came to me asking for my unadulterated love advice; I looked at her, unblinking, and told her to run away. I told her to save her herself, protect herself and to run. The safest place for your heart is solitude. The words stumbled out of my mouth and came as a shock even to me. I once had an elderly woman I hold in high regard tell me that, “Men can only love up to a certain point,” to explain why I had been abandoned in a relationship. I rejected her opinion because I recognized that it came from that place of fear, of hurting, of self-preservation. Now here I am broken and selfish after one failed love too many—giving sorrowful advice with a look of trepidation in my eyes.

We should be more careful how we treat once valued love relationships before they come to an end, it can be too easy to snuff out whatever is left of someone’s already dimming light. My light is gone. Now I am fear and I am darkness—I don’t know how to emerge and how to enjoy something new and possibly great. I am stripped of my ability to fight for your affection.

I only wish you the will to fight for mine—if you think you have it in you.

Image

A Part of His Balanced Breakfast, Traci Turner, 2011
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