For a time I lived with a king I was gifted a Ruby. exquisite.
This king was eternal. I was master of the dragon. She summoned me to him.
we dined spoke and laughed I broke his minstrel finger once.
His heart did not recognize that I broke too.
a wondrous leather
a castle never recognized
Long live the king
I am still.
once thick and languid
Silenced in the everything
I fought pale
with no moon
to light my stars
where did the harbour disappear to
why did I allow its retreat
There is this void that I am unable to penetrate
Once a gift given, now denied
I look inward and see my truth
A stranger I am to the asking of delights
To a voice being not merely recognized, but heard
I find my way among the weeds, the venom
the cacophony and the abyss
To have glimpsed wonder, to have felt its fleeting embrace
That they would deem to enshroud me;
I who, was so close to my infinite
I am Of
I have often been
My yearning has never been of the obsolete
I am not of the stagnant
I was not brought to decay
Bring me down
how quickly It
The dreams and loving you had of me, for me, to me.
This silence. Eternal.
Strange to be tied of tongue.
Of voice no more.
I am in the other
you are of the away,
in the bone of my breast you beat. Eternal.
To shroud, keel, lament.
That this star, orb, sphere
the reality of your essence stilled. To find succour.
Silenced we are within the longing to be heard
Not to be touched
Quiet within rage taste shelter bliss
Not to be touched
Solitude is enchanting whilst wearing
Weaned off of our Mothers’ milk
White men to REVERE
One to gift us
One to save us
given the right to creep into our beds at night
In our dreams
we welcome them
we pray to them
By day we believe in them
Yet YOU question why
seduction. persuasion. perversion.
like this shit has not already been
sinterklaas and jesus christ
they know if you are naughty or nice
all the groping
little men with all their little toys
must be HARD
walking the world with your genitalia hanging on by a thread
that only applies to us
yet we are the ones to blame
Weaned OFF of our Mothers’ milk
Ill I was. Once.
fragmented and nasty.
sad I had been.
Fear in the going of and to sleep.
bad things happen when your eyes are busy blinking
If rest is for the wicked I must have been cannonized
sarcasm and their beautiful offspring.
In the light I slept.
Terror, recognized yet not understood.
Death with its’ myriad.
Fever. atrophy ensued.
You were all already dead. The moon decided.
I was so scared.
Sleep was my bodies desire, sleep was my bodies cure.
I learned (relearned?) the how to be
awake. alert. alive.
Dreams have rarely been recognized.
I am ever
In the ready
To have had that life.
The one with the someone.
The ones who are. Yours.
within the other ways
asking the world
to be of a different shade
for a second
Not for me
I am not.
I would be
I don’t want.
More words are
apparently to be spoken
to be written
I should grieve?
I will not
I will try to express
Fantasy. As though I could.
I know very well where
To lose in gilded parentheses.
Arch and if what beats is.
slit, door, opening, window, threshold
The fake lights will abound.
My stomach that beats. My nails that tender.
one that prodded
one that permeated
one that persevered
one that is reserved
That I should be the one muted.
Only to be seen by which you honed.
Easy to say hello
when goodbye was never really spoken.
Play on your words.
A play on words.
I am immediate.