disconsolate oddball farceur

poetry/writing side blog, yadda yadda.

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what do I call this feeling?

a novel sort of naked --

a nerve laid bare by

the tentative archaeology

of treasuring you

I remember trembling

a beautiful new flavour

of aching

this could kill me,

and it would still be a privilege.

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lover, plunder me

bury me smothered

under your tongue

glutton for you

greedy little disciple

of appetite

eager to tithe

suffocate me in worship

mount me over the threshold

of this red heaven

hold my head steady

for the sacrament

mouth open

wandering your vermilion border

hauling your cross

calling you god

my forehead crowned

with thorns

(look look I made it better)

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confession:

I regret being born

the pomegranate beckons

departure dances

a tempting burlesque

yet I hesitate --

lips pressed

to the precipice

underworld

under my tongue

I cannot jump

psychopomps might scoff

but even gods falter

at thresholds

and Charon keeps no schedule

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bucket list?

just this:

become someone

who does not sully

what I try to love

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poor doll-- fraught, falling

you are not hollow or wrong

you are only lost

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lover, plunder me

bury me smothered

under your tongue --

keepsake, sweetly aching

pressed flush against frenulum

glutton for you

(just a flushed

and hungry little secret)

suffocate me in worship:

wandering your vermilion border

calling you god

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I remember cherishing you,

I said,

like that meant anything

but an elegy.

In the best of all

possible worlds:

you knew

I didn't deserve it,

and you loved me anyway.

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Cassandra stands

ankle-deep

amid cinders

the city smokes

through its many mouths

with vacuum pupils

calibre

and hue of

new panic

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glorified:

I cried whore

denied the halo,

draped my scarce little shine

in depraved regalia

tried to disguise my radiance

with the dress of a temptress

the patron saint

of chronic objectification

project caricature

scapegoat, villain, victim

or sacrificial lamb?

answer: yes

it depends where you're standing

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child, it's fine to breathe

I can see denial's price

shining twice in each iris

schlera tending yellow

jaundice haunts

your aura's every edge

free now to bleed softly

the vermilion peeks through

your pupils

as you look away

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barely sacred

made for disdain

I play the scapegoat

prostrate myself before

the throne you owe to me

invariably

I overlook

the albatross

what paltry prophecies

providence portions out

never arrive on time

the omen:

oh, men

you wipe the taste of truth

from your teeth

and call it relief

tomorrow:

ash

only ash

and still I sift it

pick thin meaning

from dimming things

that never fit

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there's a sliver

a glass shard cast hard

against the heart of

habitual apathy

waking barely-there wings

deflated by learned surrender

shredded by skyfall

heart full of feathers

and keepsakes from breaking

against hope

I could hardly hold

I learn to soar

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just us girls,

we play:

never have I ever

asserted myself

never have I ever

been believed

without needing

to bleed

never have I ever

spoken prophecy

and not swallowed it

choking omen-tongued

on chromosomes

never have I ever

shed the exoskeleton

kept the soft belly

instead of the shell

never have I ever

felt held

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fortune's favourite daughter

conditioned by miracles

habitually optimistic

laughs at causality

nods as providence

wrinkles physics

in tribute

impervious to weather

silver linings circle 

her nimbus clouds

thunder blusters

but does not touch

there is nowhere 

she cannot walk 

there is no offering 

too lofty 

there is nothing 

she wants

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Be honest, what’s one thing you just can’t say no to?

oooh, this is a good question! I'll admit, I'm not great at saying no generally, even when I probably should.

but if you'd like a more specific answer?

cute animals, Irish cream liqueur and my own curiosity!

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My bad! Is that you on your profile

it is yes! it's an old picture though, I'm older now :3

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Passing prayers puddle, linger

briefly between cupped palms.

This is a feeling my hands

can't capture --

Elysium in retreat.

I pawned the gold God laid

upon my soul,

sold it for silver,

frittered away gifted riches

on frivolous pleasures.

Lord, deliver me from living.

Treading eggshells,

I tell myself I remember

how to breathe

through the trauma,

weave between bombs

buried underfoot.

No matter how I flail, I fail

to plead against the lesson:

I wanted wrong.

I never learned

to stop longing.