Taken Me.

Eyes closed
face poised in pleasure
tension dissolving from its hold
unwrapping the tightly woven coils
of muscles around the bones,
clothes on the floor
tan-lines exposed
hazy tendrils floating lazily
heaven bound
nobody to tell you “no”
fingers clenching
time hard pressing
against a passion
a love story
without the love
the smoothness of
a liquid glove
I breathe you in deep
all the way to my feet
excite me
I am yours to keep
until you fail to please
for now the ember
burns white hot in these sheets
no need to wonder
just be
I surrender
myself at your feet
take me under
besiege me
rough and tender
do what you may please
sweat spilled
droplets of evidence
of the elements
to your ownership
of my willing body
paid-in-full
push and pull
you leave me on my knees
I’m yours
to throw or to hold
you have taken me.

Memaphor.

 

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

I shouted into the pitched darkness, somehow expectant of an answer from its emptied core. The lack of response was killing me; I had been having this one-sided yelling match for the entire night long, to no avail. The low rumbling of thunder began then, and my heart-rate quickened at the sound of its tumbling crashes getting louder – the ground beneath me rumbling ever-so-slightly from its force.
It’s then that my thoughts begin to pirate my mind in rapid succession:
Systematically, I think about the last time that this happened, about the brain-blindingly loud thunder and the chaotically destructive lightning; about the unworldly things that my body was forced to endure during the last storm like this one; I think about the endless possibilities of damages that the impending storm might bring with its wrath; I think about death…I wish for death, a quicker one than the one I am currently playing out.
My mind regains its control over the rest of me just then; and I sit up and wipe my face to regain some composure. I am jolted awake with realization. I scream again with the dwindling wind left in my stinging lungs, affecting a strip of sandpaper ripping itself upwards from my belly’s darkest depths.

“I don’t need to stay here!”

I become infused by adrenaline throughout my bloodstream and serotonin pumping through my glands as I holler the defiant statement into the blackness beyond me – surrounding me – enveloping me;

“I don’t have to do this again…I won’t let you do this anymore!”

I spring to my broken feet in spite of the searing pain shooting up each ankle through my shin bones, lower jaw jutting out in sheer bullheadedness; I have chosen. I am so high off of my own rebellion that I fail to notice the momentum growing in the rumbling and cracking of thunderous bolts around me in the darkened space. At that instant, I can feel the warfare in my esophagus, its bile-like foam rising in my tightened throat; its taste instantly sets off an alarm in my brain and my mind gets weakened by the surprise – I fall.
The cracks of forceful, thunderous power bite at my face and body like wet sheets twisted into vines to whip me to a miserable death. The bellowing rolls of strength and control wash over the entirety of the scene with noise so deafening, that I am no longer able to tell up from down – dark from light; the pain brought about through these forces is felt through and through…standing every nerve on its end, leaving a pain-infused retinal image singed into the insides of my eyelids. I do not want to open my eyes ever again after that point, as I know that HE has returned to hurt me. I wait like a wounded hunter’s prize in the silent darkness, straining to hear it. It’s a voice that is so terrifying to my betrayed, blood-filled ears, that its dripping teeth are nearly tangible to me through the void around me, it says:

“Do you not by now realize, fragile one, that you hold no power here?”

My heart sinks lowly at the sound of HIS voice; its affected terror on me perseveres blindly past my strongest points. I crumble, too weakened by shame and defeat to cry, even. A huge hand, large enough to scoop up my entire body, picks me up into its bloodied palm and begins to squeeze me so tightly that I watch my own eyeballs turn red from the inside.

simple_beauty_by_velvetredbullet-d3cqn4d

Picture This.

beat-upSit for a few and let me outline a plan –
In a language that we can each understand;
Listen as I frankly describe –
What it’s like to be terrorized.
No matter a female, or a male –
The story’s the same and we all tell the tale;
A plan that belongs to an unnaturally cruel mind –
The gradual death grip that tightens with time.
Childhood fist fights lost, think back now –
That feeling of wanting a new identity, somehow;
The dip in the ego, embarrassment, shame –
Just shift this in its context to a given domestic domain.
The surprise and shock will absorb the first few hits –
The shame hides behind her down-turned, swollen lips;
Next to go: so quickly though, will be always, her pride –
Disbelief is that shimmering from either blackened eye.
The plan continues to play itself out –
The talk on the street everyone knows all about;
The terror becomes a part of her life –
Until she isn’t sure she sees anything right.
A tactical, practical fuck of the mind –
So perfectly tuned to the room in which she’s confined.
There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide –
It’s a matter of when the terrorist chooses to terrorize.
He’s so good at degrading the body and soul –
To cope, she must fly her mind out the window;
He’s so disturbingly satisfied with her misery –
That he makes certain it will remain HIS, exclusively.
The days begin to string together like beads –
Escape drifts further from a perceived reality.
The ache goes much deeper than wounds in the flesh –

he drops her and breaks her  – makes her beg him for death;
the cuts, scars, and impact marks, broken jaw and collar bones –
gradual desecration of the heart barking orders at the drones.
this plan was constructed by my husband: a psychopath –
a monster who hated me beneath a charming mask.
this very same plan is revived everyday –
set in motion to unfold in exactly such ways;
although the faces change on those in the show –
where the battered buck stops, we never do know.
those school-yard fights with bloody faces and egos –
break you so much harder when they happen in your home.