His Beautiful Everything

I want to be the kind of woman

you’d sing a song to

whatever that kind of woman may be

I’m dripping with sins against god

and against my own soul

all for a beautiful man

I’m drowning in the memory

of his eyes

and his beautiful everything;

his beautiful cock haunts my dreams

built up love on fire in my veins

no where to go

Once he met my wounds

I didn’t need them anymore

He dissapeared

They reappeared

When we got too high

“his cock made me feel forgiven”(61.)

but he couldn’t hold onto an open-wound girl

without getting blood on his hands

The rage love monster that lives inside of me

would have eaten him alive

In my dreams we get married

“What lived and died between us haunts me still” (62.)

I want to do it all again. 

*the two quotes are from The Chronology of Water by Lidia Yuknavitch <3 p="">

Slab of Meat

The nurse gave me tranquilizers

I couldn’t stop crying

I couldn’t breathe

hunched on the floor in front of the nurses station

my hot flesh packed against cold tile

a slab of meat

digging 

“Take this,  it’ll help you calm down.”

I complied.

I learned.

It was Mother’s Day;

Two things for my father to destroy:

my mother

and Mother’s Day

How dare he

leave me to live with the guilt

when he’s the one with dirt on his hands?

His rage monster

bred mine

I don’t appreciate it

but I do

without his filth

and his invitation to his room;

to his shower

a fire in me wouldn’t have been born

The fire is all I have

Must I appreciate my father’s dirty hands?

Am I born of dirt and filth

or did I let the warm sun change me?

Doing mushrooms may have saved my life.

Spinning Daughter

I don’t know what was spinning faster

the wheels 

or my mind

I peddled like I was going to the only place left on earth

but I wasn’t

I was going there

going back

sinking down below me

beneath me

I needed to know why he stopped calling

How could it be that the man with the dirty hands left ME?

If someone was leaving it was me

but it wasn’t

I was coming back

to leave

but not

bees in my throat

screws in my head

screeching

screaming

angry vulgar rage monster thoughts

daydreaming screams until I blacked out,

my own cries re-awakening me

knock on the door.

silence.

door open.

every practiced word vanished without a trace

a whaling little girl cry

was all that was left

“Dad, why did you leave me”

as if I was a daughter he could love

and he was really my dad

I Am Yours 'Till They Come

Have You Come Here To Rescue Me?

Precious But Not Free

Words on image from The Sweet Relief of Missing Children by Sarah Braunstein

Words on image from I Know Where You Sleep by Emilie Autumn