May 2015

Poem Fictionalesque (warning: explicit content)

Poem Fictionalesque (warning: uncensored)

 

I’m wondering about love.

I’m done with broken people,

and power plays, attention games.

 

****(censored hotel name) , she’s a mess, 

an artist child who feels weird and alone,

she just wants to be held for no ulterior gain,

she just wants to be loved as she is.

 

Sex gets in the way of my heart language,

swinging back and forth between

wanting to shove my dick

into her white underwear, black toppling top, breasts falling;

to fuck her for all the rejection I’ve gathered in my life

to make her see me,

to believe in me as a man…

to give me her attention,

to worship my vibrations, my body        (like I worship hers)

—-between that and—–seeing her lost spirit,

her little girl as beautiful and needing to trust and be given to

w/out expectation in return when the world always wants something out of her. 

 

Such is this #### (numeral censored) hotel-room-in-between-stranger-soul-dance, avoiding the strings of the **** (censored) police force and laughing into this adventure.

She sits, feigns surprise,

upright smoking on her bed, ashing carelessly in the $*** (censored) room, we spill wine on the sheets, she’s drunk, scattered, raw emotion body in underwear parading for attention,

performing, , wanting to be loved for her laughs, wanting to be enough, such, ouch, what a mirror shoved into my face…

I want her attention

 

sex=attention

touch=attention

I’m trying to be unconditional for this total stranger

but my insecurities make me a biased therapy would be giver 

so does my dick

and power lust.

some revenge against the female race,

some vendetta I’ve probably held for lifetimes,

maybe primordial….

the…”why did you have to separate from our oness into duality, dual flames, why’d you leave me, I want you back” question of the cosmic dance strife desire play lost found seekers hide and seek.

 

I know she wants my attention, she’s not giving me any, she’s distracted, scattered purposefully because she doesn’t know how to let someone love her.  My ego takes over my heart and power plays on this.

“Fine I’m leaving”

“No” her eyes plead

“Yes”

I’ve got her where I want her…

NOW she see me

but she has me, she always does, and I wince at my lack of will, of backbone

damn curves, damn Eve.

I feign power manipulation…where’s the love.

Cant I just have sex and love someday? 

No games, no insecure power plays

no attention competition,

just bareness, just come as you are, just fill and be filled.

 

 

Do I seek this **** (past girl’s name censored) type who has trouble being loved….do I ?…have trouble being loved mirror universe?

Do I love paintings and drawings where you see her back to you, never her face, never her eyes.  

Do I love the left behind? The pawing at glory, the stinging of so close skin body smell,

yet so far away deprivation?  is it a sick self wish? 

 

“fine, i’ll stay 10 minutes, but I cant wake up in this hotel”

I gotta be a man at least enough to make that call.

My fingers are in her.

She knows sex will regain her power over my attention, could make me stay could make me not abandon her, and leave her with the poison television white noise, the sad opera star who died tragically from loves greatest betrayal at her own hand.

 

Try a little tenderness, her subconscious plays.

I massage. 

She hasn’t been touched in a while.

Why? 

A girl so sexy, and dynamic, artistic and unique? 

I feel her body breathe.

She sits still but for a few minutes to let go before her restless mind seeks to distract her away from letting go and being enough.

 

I’m not gonna fuck her

**** (my name censored), tell me you wont fuck her 

love her as a human who needs to be healed,

with no expectation of something in return.

 

God damn her seduction mixed signals for attention

fuck, in her underwear as I slip in the key she gave me, smoking like a vixen who’s seen too much

but holds a secret sweet pure center somewhere in there for he who finds her again.

Fucking fairytales.

I only say that cause they are true

except not so spatially, but more in terms of psyche heroism

 

Penis wants to enter into that holy

warm place of validation, sex=care, love for this man,

however logical he disciplines himself to wisdom, women=home.  

 

Do all men feel like this?

So contradicted? 

Power lust seeking love…

and care and attention

like the child that had to grow up and pretend he didn’t like flowers?

 

 

The witness likes the movie I’m in.

If only they could see me now…

my boys, my wolfpack…

in fact all my audience would love this…you cant write this 5 star, forbidden, lust soul seek drunken dance to connect,

looking to both find something we’ve lost in a person who is just as lost;

can the lost help eachother be found?

 

Stories for days.

I should be glad. 

she lays perpendicular in her highwaisted white panties over my legs,

looking up 60’s psychedlic rock

it’s enough; to be in this story is enough        (thank you music)

why is it failed, written off life, if I don’t fuck?

Enjoy a female body

here around you,

half naked,

curving and moving and breathing and playing,

why does sex have to overshadow these gem moments, this movie candy?

I’m young, breaking all the rules for Whitman’s “side curved head: stands leaned against some impalpable rest with side curved head and wondering ‘what next?’ “

That’s enough.

Adventure.

I did feel alive.

 

 

what a roller coaster

What is my karmic path that draws these fiery kaleidoscopes to collide with my scope of vision

and shake me

out of control? 

I’m too good at control,

I need, a hurricane

I need the windswept ocean that I 

met her by.

Fuck it, I lived it well.

Tonight was a a story.

 

RH