Ode to abortion

Abhor abscond abandon

abort

You

That play within the inside

The rule that flays

this child that flounders

Which you Deem

Worth everyone else’s time but yours

We to be

be left to clean

to air

Your grievances

Bereft in your own majesty

Your beneficence

This child that flounders

All of your bits that you need to continue

control corrupt

Postulate

Prostrate

Ejaculate

Procreate

Pontificate

War is not murder

Abortion is

Reality is a cunt

She to be

Despised

Defeated

Deflated

Discarded

You.

The Child that flounders.

Shelter

 

Silenced we are within the longing to be heard

I reach

Not to be touched

explained

released

expelled

Quiet within rage taste shelter bliss

A fountain

A fount

A fawn

Beauty

expunge

exfoliate

exasperate

explicate

You reach

Not to be touched

explained

released

expelled

Solitude is enchanting whilst wearing

Loneliness

is

 

Withdrawal and The Immediacy

                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Heart and the beat.

Silent in the lies.

Heart corroded

beats that continue, contain, conceal.

The fucking hope and its eternal.

Always I am in the belief,

Striving.

The decay

open and bloody left.

A song

never meant.

I am one

fucked by stillness

wanton disregard

pale

still writhing

bereft.

Fuck you and the clinginess

incessant tone

in your background

as though I am the one for you to turn all of your bile on to. Into.

Blood and semen, sweat and urine. You are not the only one.

I defecate. I cum too.

Of broken parts and undulation

 

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

sex

don’t sex

In our dreams

we welcome them

The stories

YOU tell

of them

to us

we pray to them

By day we believe in them

Yet YOU question why

seduction. persuasion. perversion.

sex

don’t sex

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

sex

don’t sex

that only applies to us

yet we are the ones to blame

Weaned OFF of our Mothers’ milk

Monique and a Sunday. A Wednesday in a September.

Ill I was. Once.

fragmented and nasty.

sad I had been.

Too young.

When.

Nine.

Fifteen.

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 fought.

I learned (relearned?) the how to be

awake. alert.  alive.

Dreams have rarely been recognized.

Muscles taut

I am ever

In the ready

Be beginning

Be middle

Be end

Breath and the Shallows

To have had that life.

The one with the someone.

The babies.

The ones who are. Yours.

Busy

within the other ways

Curious

asking the world

to be of a different shade

for a second

Knowing

if did

would

wilt.

Not for me

of me

I am not.

A second

and

I would be

paused

forever.

So

I

continue

I don’t want.

Enough.

More words are

apparently to be spoken

to be written

I am

I should grieve?

Feel bereft?

Tell

I will not

I will try to express

empathy.

To have

My Life

High rises and Luminescence

Fantasy. As though I could.

I know very well where

My.

Dreams.

To lose in gilded parentheses.

Arch and if what beats is.

I know

planetary

fuck

stationary?

Face

thoughts

commonality

I recognize

crystallization

this?

fuck

slit, door, opening, window, threshold

The fake lights will abound.

We remain.

 

 

 

Still and the being

 

My stomach that beats. My nails that tender.

This syringe

we cultured

binds.

You

one that prodded

one that permeated

one that persevered

one that is reserved

Me

This sea

the vast

the expanse

the time

I hate.

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.

Purple Giraffes and Their Underlings

The time We shared. We met. We didn’t fuck. Lost and Bold. Quiet and Astringent.

That I would be moored by Your eloquence. Those nasty beautiful words You spread open upon.  Paper as You slide off of the edge.

Wrought. Symmetry. Sematic.

As though time is capable cognizant culpable.

We.

A dream forsaken does not mean that it never existed.

Eleven Forty Seven

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.

I blinked

a wondrous leather

a castle never recognized

a tale

harsh

raw

Long live the king

I am still.

Gleaning

My voice

once thick and languid

Silenced in the everything

I resisted

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

The Before

I am Of
wants
needs
desires

I have often been
Silenced
Distilled

My yearning has never been of the obsolete

I am not of the stagnant
I was not brought to decay

I bide

This fervour
unleashed

Bring me down

There is
a silence
a stillness
a pause

The before
how quickly It
Consumes
Obliterates

Speak

Scream

The after

is Upon

Grief and That man

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

would

pause

and breathe

the reality of your essence stilled. To find succour.