A Damn Mess

I was licking my wounds
but you stopped me.
You wanted to do it
so I let you.
You licked and sucked till
my wounds became scars.
Then, you cut me again
at the exact same spots.

So, here I am, a damn mess,
studying our synastry chart
for the 50th time,
fiddling with tarot cards,
tiredlessly hoping you’d come back.
I want your tongue and yours alone,
and I know that even if you return,
you would lick me up
so you can cut me again.

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What is Love? III: A Cage

a_bird_in_a_cage_by_sebowebo-d5esu3r

“A Bird in a Cage” | Sebastian Gomez 

Dear Love,
why don’t you love me?
Why do you like to punish me?
You possess and drain my strength,
but you let the other go scot-free.
When I am in you
and when I am not,
when you are in me
and when you are not,
I am always lonely.

I’m Not a Bloody Playtime Pool

Drown

Painted by Brian Kirhagis

You wanted to be let in,
into the flow of my emotions,
into the depths of my feelings.
Why do you want to leave now?
Oh!
You have your life to live now?

I asked if you could swim
and you said “yes”,
you’d do anything to get in.

Is it too cold for you now?
Is my water too dirty for you,
too contaminated for your soul?
Do your lifeguards want you out now?

Were you looking to find fishes in me,
to feed them and keep them for your use?
Are you disappointed that there are none?
Do you wish that I was more salty?
Have you found a different water?

Why don’t you talk to me?
I don’t want you out of me;
your presence satisfies me.
I am so used to you;
I don’t know what to do.

You can’t just make me trust you
and then mess up.
Cum, tears, sweat, blood, pee;
how do I separate all of you from me?

You see, this is the kind of shit that…
*whew!*
…this is the kind of stuff
that gets motherfuckers drowned.
I’m not a bloody playtime pool.

I’m a sea.

-Yemoja 

I’m Fableous

Jealousy by Saatchi Art

“Jealousy” by Anna PS

Yes,
I’m
(jealous because you are
doing fine without me)
excellently well,
thank you.

Lover and Life

I can’t say you were
the love of my life;
it doesn’t make any sense.
If you were,
even if you left,
I’d still have a life.

Now I have no love.
Now I have no life.

Freely Bound: Heroin Today, Slave Tomorrow

Ginnny

Painted by Ginny Thonson

💉💊🚬
It’s My Death’s Life:
Freedom made love to me
and it was surprisingly good,
even better than I had imagined,
so I did it again.

Again and again,
till my breasts and arms
and hips and thighs were sore.
Again and again,
I didn’t care ’cause I wanted more.
Again and again, and again,
three shots stopped being enough,
so I made it four.
Again and again and again, and again,
“I can’t do without this feeling;
it mustn’t walk out my door.”

We did it till I became paralyzed;
my thighs and trunk were stuck.
I was in complete and constant pain
from all the fruitless fuck.

Freedom didn’t untie me from the bed,
and it didn’t listen to a thing I said.
Freedom didn’t let me go;
temporary tallness didn’t let me grow.

Freedom is the strongest wind,
and no one can catch up with it.
When you think you have,
look again,
because it sheds its skin at that point,
and quickly becomes death. 

Everyone wants to own freedom
but she doesn’t want to be owned.
Freedom likes to own
just as much as she likes to disown;
she makes you a king today,
and tomorrow, gets you dethroned.

In freedom, in complete “freedom”,
“dom”(ination) comes right after “free”.

Today Was Tomorrow

Mulata

Mulata em Rua Vermelha, 1960

I was too busy wondering if you
would still love me tomorrow,
too busy to sense that our today was tomorrow.
Our very beginning was our end;
our tomorrow did not exist.
It was all far too torn for us to mend.

I feel stupid for giving our children names-
the ones we were supposed to have,
the ones we would never have
because “we” itself was struggling to breathe,
because “we” itself was dying.

I AM beINg PAtIeNt

I hope you’ll see sooner,
that I am your other,
that we ought to be together,
that we can make each other stronger.
I can be your healer,
and you can be my lover,
and vice-versa.
I’ve loved you since I was much younger,
and I’ll love you forever.

Desper-hate

HUMAN SACRIFICES AND SHEET:

When he ordered drinks for us,
I could tell that he was hurt.

“I’m with another woman,
an other woman,
a ‘not her’ woman,
but by God, any woman will do.”

“What do you mean?”, I asked.

He looked away.

“I couldn’t get Queen out of my head;
someone else had to.
I couldn’t get Queen out of my bed;
I needed a rescue.

Defective Heart

I was born with a broken heart,
and no one can care for me
or love me enough.
If they don’t care for me
or love me for a day,
I’ll go back to being paranoid and hurt,
and I’ll be much worse than I was
before they came into my life.

No light is bright enough for my darkness;
nobody’s trust can make me totally fearless.
No love is compatible enough with my heart;
no brush is good enough for my art.
No air is fresh enough for my lungs;
no drums are good enough for my songs.

I must learn.
I must learn how to love myself.
No one’ll ever love me more
than myself.
No one’ll ever love my self more
than me.