detrimental to synaptic plasticity and long-term memory,
but conducive to short-term memory and attention span.
detrimental to synaptic plasticity and long-term memory,
but conducive to short-term memory and attention span.
It’s come to where I can’t help but to finally say,
after biting my tongue for two years’ worth of days,
over things ever done in the stupidest ways,
by the two gentlemen who I call my roommates;
the idiocy that shines through each one’s daily moves,
leaves me stuck there on stupid like gum on a shoe,
instead of applying any logic to the shit that they do,
they form a tempest of absurdity and sweep right on through;
it would kill either one to rinse his cereal bowl,
before impetuously stacking them in a mile-high row,
right next to the sink where they good and well know,
that I will wash them in order to see out the kitchen window;
dirty camping trip laundry and mildewed swim trunks,
overflowing garbage cans that appear to have blown up,
my family room is littered with dollar bills and empty cups,
my back yard decorated with engine oil and cigar butts;
and, though I know it isn’t born of grandiosity,
and that my boys must suffer from what’s sheer stupidity,
neither one seems bothered by existing so confusedly,
one day attaches to the next with such mindless simplicity;
bottles left on the front porch step when the trash can is nearby,
things that make such little sense that I often want to cry,
toilet seat ever-up, missing socks, poison oak in both my eyes,
stains and spots, rotting apricots, and the associated flies;
they hardly wonder why people say that I mother them,
it’s like I live with two schoolboys, ages eight and ten,
any alternative to the drill is hard to let myself imagine,
and so, it goes, the side-show starring a woman and two men.
What does this woman want?
She wants to be secure,
wants to be assured,
wants to feel beholden,
to bring warmth to the touch of her master;
And, what does the man want?
He wants to greedily admire,
wants to be twice as admired,
wants to burn eternal,
to forever sizzle within at the sight of his object;
The equation seems simple,
closeness shall draw the rest together, in turn,
a man and a woman are natural companions,
the admiration one holds for the other,
is not enough – has never been enough,
will never be enough to purge,
from the spirit of the man,
or from the soul of the woman,
the sapling that lies within the belly of both,
grown from the seed of Lust and Blood,
one, the child of Fear and Jealousy,
the other, born to War and Desire,
now together – now ripped at the seam,
the dark hours are the battleground,
on which we strike our most memorable,
and powerful of blows,
to behold the single rogue,
sweat drop as it defiantly rolls
from your brow down the bridge of your nose
and disappears in the corner of my eye, as usual.
I thought you’d left while I was in the bubble bath;
So I paraded around sporting bitchy tits ‘n ass…
I wrapped myself up in your freshly washed towel;
telling myself I was glad that you were gone now…
Silly me; you actually never had gone anywhere at all;
I found you standing quietly with your mouth opened in awe …
Beads of sweat dot your head; a crown of liquefied guilt;
Swallowed whole – from all you know; desire you’ve never felt…
And when you see my red-ruby pouting start to pucker,
and sense how my insides tense; you sexy mother-fucker…
Lick me clean of my tears – salted by such childish fears;
strike a match against the fuse between the filthy and the pure…
tonight I stroke your hidden side – that displaced face you always hide;
Allow me to perfect your view of how a good girl will abide…
you stood there, your hands wringing with intensity;
shirtless and hungry like a pre-meditative beast,
I was yours bendable expendable – that’s right, wrapped up tight;
And you were yourself – an animal, ever-ready to bite…
the time became a sucking noise from the drain,
you manhandled my body and I hijacked your brain;
I’m glad you never left while I was in the bubble bath;
it’s sad to think about it now after so much time has passed.
A death-metal, confused combination of
the disparate male persuasions that I love
mixed in with the grizzled and rugged things
are parts that define an eloquent masculinity
a mind running steadily through life’s equations
a heart beating heavily against Death’s invitations
a face holding pure semblance to any warrior king’s
and full of remembrance of all that it’s eyes have seen
his voice falls softly on the ears of those he holds dear
to his enemies, its sound connects itself wholly to fear
articulate and wise over that which this man presides
freedom’s very essence burns from deep behind his eyes
if the Gods perfected a man-brew for me specifically
built of a strange variation of what’s sexy to me
he’d fall somewhere between Batman and Matthew McConaughey
balanced by Prince Florizel, Dr. Silence and Sean Connery
his actions have no time to speak before they’re done
as he executes his moves without a word to anyone
he harbors the spirits of the most ancient beings
hardcore and savage like the lost warrior king
at the same time, he’s infused by intelligence
he writes poetry and plays musical instruments
a worldly perspective of all that he sees
the deepest of thought behind all he perceives
he can wield a battle-axe or calmly opt to speak
write a masterpiece in the timeframe of a week
this imaginary man would undoubtedly have to be
made up of Sherlock Holmes’ exquisite mentality
part DeNiro, part DiCaprio, with a dash of Dillahunt
Doc Hollywood, Shawnee Tecumseh and Timothy Olyphant
he’d never bitch or moan about irrelevant detail
he can drive, fly, swim, fight, think and hit a nail
he can wrench on an engine or write musical sheets
he can solve math equations in his deepest of sleep
he is not shy but has no need to stand out
he remembers things his mama told him about
he loves his Gods and hates universal ideology
some days he holds fast – sometimes, he sets free
he sings along with the tunes as they come to him
with words he replaces with singular improvisation
his nature is funny as Hell but warmly composed
high Native cheekbones and an aquiline nose
he would be made from varying traits and elements
pieced together like in a patchwork of history’s best
In a small circle broken only by,
the tiny space by which hopefully, I,
will make an escape at the end of my –
musings made public in the blink of an eye;
I lift my sword and point now,
to you: hazel eyes, six-foot-two,
you know exactly what it will be,
that I naturally recall about you…
the way that your shimmering eyes –
were a mask covering so many lies –
and how those lies eventually outweighed any truth;
Now, on to the one right next to the first:
top lip’s so tight his mouth might burst,
your body language says that your brain works fine,
the stance of your stature doesn’t look so self-assured,
you have kept your ignorance segregated, indeed –
by everyone – especially women – quite successfully –
that crap works great in the military, so why not go, soldier?
And on to the next obliviously smiling wise guy,
born and bred from the blood of some godly divine,
I’ve known of dead animals with better morals than you,
sporting tattoos that belong only in the skin of dead swine,
your very breath reeks of poisonous hatred –
a desire to destroy what any other finds as sacred –
wretched: your kiss is of Sulfur and your touch is of brine.
Oh my fuck. Why? Why?
Does Anyone Remember “The Opportunist”:
So I just received a text from him – out of the clear blue – after over six months of not a single word – that says:
I don’t know if you still hate me or not. I wish you didn’t. I think about you all the time. I’m so sorry for the way shit went down between us. You made me very happy while we were “together”. I should have told you more about what was going on in my life back then so that you didn’t have to draw your conclusions. So-and-so and I were just friends, still…and nothing else was ever going on between us like I’ve been told you were thinking. I should have reassured you when you asked me to and I’m sorry. I hope you are well.
The one thing that I ask for this year,
Would be to just myself, completely disappear –
Somewhere quiet and cold, without a single memory to fear.
Wishes don’t come true, Blind One.
No trace of the paces I’ve left behind,
No bet to reset the mouse wheel inside my mind –
No way to lose or find myself – solitude of the most intrusive kind.
Truths aren’t acceptable, Lone One.
I’ll show myself the things I used to love,
I’ll sport my old jeans that still fit like a glove –
Maybe I’ll drink ‘til the bottle is all I can think of…
Acceptance can’t be lit on fire, Drunken One.
Maybe I’ll run for the tree line,
Sprinting and screaming like I’ve lost my mind –
Cry until my tears don’t sting – make the horizon mine.
Fire won’t burn the ice off your heart, Broken One.
So I paraded around in tears, sporting naked tits ‘n ass…
I sat on the floor, wrapped in your freshly washed towel;
In love with a truth masks my pain, somehow…
Silly me: you never left to go anywhere at all;
Eyes fixated on my body like I’m a photo on a wall…
Beads of sweat dot your head; a crown of liquefied guilt;
Swallowed whole – by all you know; release like you’ve never felt…
Can you see my ruby-sadness drenched, pouting lips start to pucker?
Can you sense: the way my insides tense; and my skin burns like a mother-fucker?
Lick me clean, of these tears – salted with my own childish fears;
Light the fuse of combustion between the filthy and most pure…
Let me nurture your hidden side – that face you always hide;
Allow me to show you how a good girl shall abide…
Don’t just sit there, with your mouth hanging wide;
Let me give you something to finally close those tired eyes.
I will be yours bendable expendable – to do with, whatever you like;
And you will be yourself – a snake in the grass, ever-ready to strike…
I will hold you closely, so tightly that your breath fails;
Bet your ass – we will lie together – in this filthy bed of nails.
There’s never been any exception to the rule.
Every single person in whom I have ever depended or relied on emotionally – has not only abandoned me, but in most cases, abandoned me to a predetermined “Pack of Wolves” when the time came.
Those who haven’t been chalked up with the rest of the weasels and worms of my glowing (in a radio-active pond scum sort of way) past never got the opportunity to abandon me – because those were the people who came after I was jaded and ruined already…after I had grown detrimentally cynical and paranoid of other human beings and their hidden agendas.
I am a woman who is strange and complex by her own doing; I have grown resigned and tired in the face of human connectedness, of trying to find it anymore. I have done most of this to myself though; I do not try to deny such an obvious fact. On the other hand, I cannot explain my own actions when it comes to romantic behaviors and the lack, thereof.
I can’t acknowledge as my own, the things about myself that I don’t understand or necessarily want to understand – it becomes too heavy to be honest the way I was raised to be, even with myself.
“The truth is a heavy burden; so it goes that few choose to carry it.”
-A random, but very memorable quote I read somewhere, long ago
Never, was I someone who others would have considered to be “promising” or “wholesome”, nor was I ever the “one” that any guy would purposely take home to meet his parents for whatever reasons – although once I bumped into his Mom or Dad, I was almost unfailingly an instant family “favorite”, and always, at worst: respected and trusted by his parents. That has always been explainable in my own mind by the fact that I am a respectable woman, a respectable human being.
As the years of life began to increasingly pass me by quickly, however, this point became ever more painful for me to exist within – like a scarlet letter branded to my forehead for anyone I encounter to recognize as the scary monster that it is: the fact that I am not lovable to men in a lasting and meaningful way.
I blame this reality of my life on two main things that I can personally take ownership of:
These two things in combination with the fact that I have grown into this awful, suspicious and insecure adult woman with a little girl’s response to so many negative experiences and endeavors in the realm of romance and relationships with men, renders me eternally incapable of building, much less – maintaining any relationships with men that mean anything more than have a single one of my “guy friends” I’ve carved years out of my overall lifespan in having non-committal sexual flings with.
Despite this piece of ugliness in my cookie jar, the guys still greedily accept a cookie when I open the jar up and offer. I always wind up alone and lonely – wondering if I will ever find someone who can handle me on a long term basis…or if I’m just destined and doomed to feel this way now forever, always knowing deep down what it was almost like to grasp such an elusive thing in my palm.
When given something similar to an “ultimatum” between all of me or none of me, because eventually even my frigid heart gets broken by such uncaring and cold-halfheartedness, not a single one of the chalked up worms and weasels chose to take ALL OF ME. Not one. Not one even tried to take on the challenge with high hopes, nobody has ever bothered with me – nobody has ever wanted to take all of me. TRUTH.
I cannot bring myself to trust one, despite the achingly constant desire I harbor to do so – my pride wins every time, and I settle for being alone before being taken for another ride. This has come to define every element of my current state of affairs – or unaffairs – or whatever they are or aren’t. I say that I am happy and better off alone, and I truly mean the “better off” part when I say it; but I am far from happy and I want “happy”…just once in my life, if even temporary.
When you’re at IKEA, and a piece of artwork you see makes you think of none other than the High & Supreme Jenny – when EVERYTHING with you seems to use her as its reference point in perspective…
When you still aren’t driving around the truck that you told her you NEEDED TO MOVE the other day – even after your so-called epiphany in regard to her ugly character the other day…
When you’re still perfectly happy and okay with taking a birthday gift from her (which translates into “kissing and making up” in my opinion, you sold out either way), while making a statement along the lines of:
“Whatever…it didn’t change anything, doesn’t matter; but the Bitch held it out from me…”
When you allow multiple misinformed friends to talk down about me, and to continue in the warped perceptions that they’ve come to harbor of me as a result of the dishonesty of your other twisted and unstable friend – and you do not stand up for me and set them straight, despite knowing beyond the shadow of any doubt – the inaccuracy that defines each one’s opinion of me…
When you are still stupid and blind enough to be falling back in right where two specific seedy, shallow and self-absorbed individuals want you, without any genuine regard for yourself or for those who actually give a fuck about you…
When you are obviously still willing to be taken advantage of by unworthy and detrimental people, while you are satisfied and somehow not disgusted with yourself for putting such an eye-sore up on a pedestal like you have, and continue to do…
While you haven’t learned the important Life Lessons yet that will determine your lasting legacy in the Universe – while you are so easy and free with the denial of what’s bad for you, while you brush aside the REAL and TRUE…
While you are still any of these painful things, please forget that we ever met.
So….I guess this means you’ll be moving whenever it might best suits your own selfish needs, that’s quite obvious.
What isn’t obvious when it should be is the fact that YOU DO NOT GET TO STRONG-ARM YOUR WAY AROUND HERE anymore as it is your place of residence. It isn’t. It never really was, it was the address you chose use for your girlfriend’s stupid little useless dogs while she was in prison and you were supposed to be “taking care” of them. When, in reality, all you did was touch down once in a while to see if everything was going in a way that made you look good from the outside of things.
Men like you might be considered as “successful”; your type even gets the unwarranted word associations of “commanding” and “exceptional” amongst the others you step all over to stand out against the contrast of, never once being human or intellectual enough to stop and learn from the many painful experiences that you inflict upon those around you while on your way to “the top”. But where is “the top”? You don’t even have a clue, do you?
I’d be willing to bet the Ranch that men like you finally make it there, covered in the blood and tears and sweat of everyone that you have used, deceived, and betrayed with your shallow nature – only to learn that “the top” is just another name for “the bottom” – somewhere filled with like-minded people just like you. How fun will that be? It will be just like the first round for you,, only this time you will be going up against others who are just as savage and uncaring as you are. Best of luck in rounds two and three, you don’t stand a chance.
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