Masochistic Musings of a Tortured Soul

These poems are a collection of the experiences, words, and thoughts that envelope me. The writing page for BrokenChi

[masochisticmusings]

You don’t have to change your status for me. You’re as free as the winged creatures that float on the breeze. Gliding from city to city In and out of trees With ease Nesting where they please. Unencumbered No entanglements Tangling ties to lovers Breaking free with lies to others. Wrists scarred from metal clasped around and tightly gripped. The remnants of wiggling out with a Houdini like slip. It’s a trip I know the script Well enough to recite it word for word. Outline the scenes I’m far from green I knew who you were before you knew my name. Cellophane game You kiss lips Guide hips Exclaim profanities and dip. Slip Back into the shadows Leaving shadows on concrete as you walk toward the light that signals the exit To the right So you can swim more oceans And wade in waters as shallow as your emotions. Thoughts as deep as kiddie pools. Collecting fools like baseball cards. By the packs Pack up and leave When dusk turns to dawn. Always changing the station to play a new song Before the first is finished. The allure has diminished And the appointed time for the session has come to an end. No need to pretend That this was more than a wistful tryst. A moment of bliss Momentary kiss-es Linger on lips Stranger than people I’ve never met. The same lips whispering lies of tomorrows that will never survive today. In an effort to escape unscathed. Untouched. Unchanged. So you can go out into the world and do it all again.

“The Cycle” -BrokenChi

[masochisticmusings]

Not that it matters, but what you said perfectly sums up my thoughts and feelings about you And I... I held my breath as I read it And felt a series of pangs in my heart as I consumed those words. I'm not really sure why I'm writing you this aside from this feeling that I had to. Maybe just because being open is a habit and vulnerability is my drug. I've OD'd so much with you that I'm surprised when I wake up. And though my tolerance is high now, To the point where I barely feel a thing, Occasionally, I'll see something that will cause palpitations and pangs in my heart. Aches in my stomach And tremors in my hands. Kinda like now. And I'll write vain repetitions of confessions and omissions to assuage the voices of suppressed feelings and thoughts... that go unseen, Unnoticed, Skipped over, And not "thought about". Because they're insignificant to the subject...the silent respondent. This is long and seemingly tangential when I meant it to only be a sentence... So I'll stop. Not that it matters.... But I miss you a lot.

"Much Ado About Nothing" -BrokenChi

[masochisticmusings]

The experiences of the innocent are often categorized by ignorance. While the experienced experience, Only moments of innocence. For with knowledge, Comes the weight and burden Of having experienced moments That Make you long for the bliss that accompanies the innocence of ignorance.

“Experience and Innocence” -BrokenChi

[masochisticmusings]

-You make me feel accepted and beautiful just as I am. -You see the real me, the flawed, vulnerable, messy, unattractive me…and you like her. - You don’t want the therapist. -You see things in me that other people rarely see. -You’re not afraid of me. -When we’re around each other, I feel like I’m breathing fresh air. I breathe you in deeply. -The time we spent in silence was more valuable than conversations with other people. -We’re inexplicably drawn to one another. -I have a deep desire to be underneath your skin. -You touched me and set my skin on fire. -You make me blush. -You ask me questions like “What would make you happy tomorrow?” -You’ve confided in me. -You noticed me and drew others attention to me. -You’re honest with me. -You haven’t stopped noticing me. -I like the way you look at me. -You make me laugh. -You remember me from when I wasn’t memorable. -You listen, take note, and respond accordingly. -You respect my time, thoughts, and feelings. -You feel lucky when I think about you. -You follow through. -You value my compliments and assessments. -You acknowledge that you’re flawed. -You desire me…more than sexually. -We can speak without words. -You’re here with me…now…when you probably shouldn’t be.

“How You Defied The Odds” -BrokenChi

[masochisticmusings]

Dear Mr. You Should Straighten Your Hair, I understand that your comment wasn't meant to be derogatory and is just reflective of your idea of beauty. You're curious to see if when heat meets my hair how long it will cascade down and how silky it would be. The thought of straight hair whipping past my eye or being neatly tucked behind my ear makes you smile... Makes you wonder why I don't frequently rock this style. No shade to the women who do, #AllHairIsBeautiful and that includes my kinks too. Besides, in its unaltered state, my wild, messy, kinky, nappy, curly is magic. Defies gravity by sticking up straight. It's fluffier than clouds and softer than down pillows or pussy willows. Smelling like Springtime hibiscus, lilac, plumeria, jasmine. Fruity like mangos, limes, and tangerines. Delicious coconut, vanilla, and cocoa scents. Tingling your senses and making your lips wet. Whether blowing like leaves in the breeze or standing firm like trunks on trees my natural hair is astounding, remarkable, possessing beauty that convention can't contain. Naturally beautiful, be it twisted, loc'd, blown out, Bantu'd, twa, 4c or 3a. And yes even straightened, if I so choose. But my hair, like my body, exists for me. My self-expression. My consumption. Subject to my whims and adjustments, and alterations. Independent of your gaze. Appreciative of your acceptance and praise... but not dependent on it. Strong, independent, unapologetically me... just as carefree Black girl as I please. Love, Aisha

BrokenChi

[masochisticmusings]

"Stolen pens and broken promises"

When she closed her eyes she could see the year flashing before her like a movie at one of those old time picture shows. They were inseparable, And insatiable for all the world had to offer. Addicted to Vicodin, adrenaline, and love. Taking from everyone but giving to each other. Every place, every event, every memory recorded in the trinkets they held dear. They called them souvenirs and each was significant to a point of time they shared. The seashells from underneath the dock where they shared their first kiss. The candle from the church that they lit for him mom. It was the first time he was vulnerable and the only time she cried. Their union was magical. All sparks and rainbows. In fact they only time they argued was over what stupid thing they would take. Like that time at the hotel where they couldn't decide whether to take the Montblanc or Swarovski turtle. Hurriedly she grabbed the pen and ran out the door. She could hear him cursing as he ran after her, and when he finally caught up, face flushed and red, he grabbed her by the throat and kissed her hard. Stealing was the rush that prolonged their other highs. The aphrodisiac that enflamed their loins. Burning for only each other. They way God, and the state of Louisiana intended. Yet on that Thursday, As she stood in their room and watched his body heaving and pulsing on top of hers, A new fire brewed inside her. One that could light 1,000 candles and incinerate shells into dust. How ironic that the closest thing to her was the pen. And as she plunged it into the side of his neck, spilling blood into his lover, she thought - "Mrs. Bronson!!" The judge's exclamation snapped her out of her trance. "You've been found guilty of murder and through this whole trial you sat smugly in that seat. No emotion. No real defense. Do you even have any remorse or regret? Anything to say for yourself?! "Yes" she said softly. Head rising, looking him directly in his eyes. "The pen wasn't worth stealing." -BrokenChi

[masochisticmusings]

Cold weather, black -n- milds, and red wine. Unlikely friends, But when brought together, Coax forgotten words from the solitude of silence. Narrating the story of things I never said. "I love you" "You ruined me" "Fuck you" "It was my fault" "I'm not sorry" "I lied" "I'm jealous" "I forgot who you were" "You were right" "I'll never forgive you" "I don't like the person you've become" Now unleashed, These words repeat, Until my voice is hoarse and cracked. Wine wets the dry parts while smoke fills in the gaps. Exhaled it carries the remaining words on the wings of the breeze. Flying past the never-lands to places of which we don't speak.

"Things Left Unsaid" - BrokenChi

[masochisticmusings]

Back when candy was cheap and summers were long I met a boy that felt like a man. He introduced me to tender kisses and body tingles. Jolts of electricity that traveled from the top of my head down to my pinky toes… Then up to places that were never touched and longed to be discovered. I gave him uncovered smiles and teenage promises. He gave me honey kisses and raw emotion. Bursts of passion when my parents weren’t home. And Walks to the corner where minutes felt like hours. I gave him acceptance and he gave me… Love. Without condition or cost. Because we were young and life seemed both short and long. And when the restrictions of age caused me to break his heart… He gave me tears without shame. And I in turn gave him the same, mixed with pain, and feelings I couldn’t quite explain. Just words covered in apology for being weak, for needing him too much, and wanting more than he could give. Promises of a future I never knew wouldn’t exist. And… A forever place inside me as my first love.

"My First Love" - BrokenChi

[masochisticmusings]

Explaining who you are to your Alzheimer's ridden father. Nausea without the sweet release of vomiting. Breathing air so thick it should be chewed. The pause between "I have something to tell you" and the delivery of the bad news. Vertigo. The five seconds after saying something you don't mean. Skinned knees without a mother's kiss. The 25th rejection letter. A dream deferred. The first time someone asks you how's your husband, post divorce. Water down the wrong pipe. That feeling when you're dying inside and are just waiting for your body to catch up.

BrokenChi "When you casually ask me 'so what's it been like'"

[masochisticmusings]

He’s… The calm. The warm breeze that catches the sweat that beads and runs down my back. The moment of cool in the midst of the heat. Speaking the words that I crave Nonchalantly changing my thoughts, My perspective, My life. He’s the itch I can’t scratch. The knot I can’t knead. Antagonizing. Throbbing. Demanding my attention and denying me release. The burn and the salve. The sunlight that wakes me from my dream… And the dream that compels me to sleep. The prescriptions I abuse and the doctor that cuts me off. The detox. The rehab. And… The relapse. My point of reference And The reference of my point. He’s like the stars in the sky. The ocean. The air. Within reach but out of my grasp. The predicate and the verb. The words on the tip of my tongue. The sentences I can’t construct. The meaning I can’t convey… The language I long to speak. The lump in my throat. The pause between my heartbeats. The tear stains on my sheets. The prayers I repeat. The mediations. The frustrations. And… Every thing in between. He Is Every Thing… To me.

BrokenChi “When someone asks me who you are”

[masochisticmusings]

Sorry I haven't posted in a while...

Things have been crazy... I'm back though. Hope you all have been well. I'll be posting a lot probably.

[masochisticmusings]

Sometimes the quiet is maddening And I don’t know what to do with the silence. So I search for noise and chaos. These are the moments when I dive into depravity. Drowning in liquor Choking on smoke. I scream your name into the still of the night So my crazy has meaning. And so I won’t be alone. For in these moments I can commiserate with the silence that was also broken by you.

"How to make peace with the quiet" by BrokenChi

[masochisticmusings]

I studied you like I was preparing for the bar or some kind of qualifying exam. With urgency and determination. And the knowledge that these bits of information would somehow change my life. And so, Every time we connected I memorized you... Your face Your mannerisms Your flaws Your light And your darkness. I know where your moles and birthmarks live. And the location of the scars you hide. I know the variations of and the meaning behind each of your smiles. And which dimples appear when you're displeased, amused, or pensive. I know the moment when you fade away And what it looks like when you pretend to come back. I know the difference between the popularized hyperbole version of you And the deep introspective being at your core. I know your bullshit and bitterness, Like I know your tenderness and vulnerability. Because I analyzed you, I examined you, I contemplated you, And I memorized you... So when you were gone I would never forget. And... So when you forget I can always remind you.

BrokenChi "What I Mean When I Say I Know You"

[masochisticmusings]

It's been three days since we've talked, text, or connected. Seems meaningless on its face. What are three days? Nothing when compared to a week or a month. But, in the context of us... Our flow, It's an eternity. The longest we've ever gone since the moment we first conversed is two days... And that was after the "clarity conversation" where I felt... Upset. And based on that It was two days before we talked again... And they were agonizing. For me. You've become a reflective point of reference for my soul. So, 4320 minutes without that connection, Without that reflection, Is too long. I can't even find words to poetically express it. Like when I text you when triggered by emotion and my grammar is off And my spelling is poor. It's my tell. My creativity is on hiatus. My thoughts are generic and my inspiration lacks influence, insight, a motive... A muse. Not to amuse. But to evoke, stimulate, reveal. Yet I'm left to revel in this seclusion as I mull over these 259,200 desolate seconds. And wondering If you feel it too. Or are you numb to the experience? Does it not touch you? Are you unaffected? True you're busy. You have more pressing things in life than thoughts of me. Missing me. But I wonder. When something pressing crosses your mind, When pains hit your heart, When you see something funny, When you come across something that opens your mind, When you hear a new, intriguing word... Do you think about me? Does this time feel long? You're enjoying your friends & family, And I my daughter, But... I still think about you. Desire to reach out to you. But I don't. I know you need space. When you want to speak to me you will. If you wanted to you would make a way. So, The question answers itself. Maybe that's my protective pessimism. The same part of me that's been telling myself we're nothing more than friends. This is all we'll ever be. Barring the occasional fuck... Should I give in when I see you... But no promise of more. No commitment to one another. I'll never meet your friends or family. I'm not your... I'm not yours. You're not mine. We're not "we". I use your words as evidence to support these thoughts. I can't decide if they're destructive or preservative. All I hold to now is what I know to be true. We're friends in the deepest sense of the word. We know each other intimately. We get each other. We understand each other. And I... And I miss that. I miss you. I miss my friend.

BrokenChi "Pathetic Thoughts After 3 Days"

[masochisticmusings]

Where love is concerned the heart can give credence to the implausible and rationalize the fantastical. Even irrational thoughts have merit when conceptualized from the perspective of hope.

BrokenChi "The Truth About Love"

[masochisticmusings]

I won’t bore you with my ignorant hopes. Or pester you with the details of my affection. And I won’t inundate you with the minutia of my dreams. For their triviality is ever present in the vacancy behind your eyes. And in the way you callously… Avoid my calls Avert your eyes Exasperate your sighs And attempt to divert my attention. Cast me off on lesser beings In the hopes that my world won’t revolve around your light. Don’t you know I love a good fight? I see your distance and I raise you the perseverance that comes with the desperation to be seen, heard, and felt By only one. You can’t change my heart like I can’t change your mind. I can only hope that in this stalemate our stagnation won’t facilitate my decline… Or make me decay… While I straddle the fence between fighting for you And going away.

BrokenChi “Impasses and Implausibilities”

[masochisticmusings]

Conversations with Exes: Things he asks

He said:

"Why don’t you settle down with a romantic nigga. One of those artsy dudes who’ll write you poems and tell you you’re beautiful. Men who will treasure you and won’t take you for granted. So y’all can wax poetic together instead of fuckin with closed off niggas like me?"

He asked me this because…

He doesn’t understand that my heart is a haven for lost souls and unlovable assholes.

A hospital for the emotionally broken and eternally hopeless. Where they get inoculations of optimism And stitches laced with dissolvable sentiments. A good nights sleep in a safe place where they can wrap themselves in blankets of resolve And feel the warmth of adoration. Be attended to. Detox from their vain addictions and find themselves again. I’m their doctor. Their healer. And in that regard I sometimes put in late hours and overtime for ungrateful beings with bile stained lips. Spewing curses as they leave patched up and made new.

These are the questions he asks me before he leaves.

-BrokenChi