It isn’t that I’m lost
or perhaps I am
it depends I suppose
on the movement of the moment
when words are but a kiss away
and time speeds up until it thrums
like the whispering flow
of an exhaled breath.
He was sunlit days
the warm glow of desire
burning in my breast
when all I could think about
was the taste of his skin
and the feel of his flesh
until I went mad with wanting.
Insanity is a lost art
unappreciated by those too normal
to understand that we all are
insane
on some level
or is that wishful thinking
I do a lot of that.
He wasn’t real
they whisper
as if I hadn’t already known
my heart may be broken
but my brain still works
most of the time.
When is love ever real
oh I imagine there are some who grasp
the brass ring
as they whirl around on the wooden pony
bright and shiny
capturing it close to their heaving chest
bright red lips curling in laughter
still most of us deal with table scraps.
Life is a banquet
of indigestion
broken dreams and tarnished pennies
the stars have exploded
under the heavy weight of our wishes
fairy godmothers hide
with bruising flesh and tattered pride
they were no match against reality’s bite.
I knew he was too good to be true
Prince Charming is neither a prince nor charming
though he is entirely too good looking
a truth he wields like a cleaver
sharp and deadly to those unaware of the danger
it’s an appealing facet of humanity
that calls to the ugly duckling in me.
I always thought I was lacking
sometimes I still do
in the dark of night
when there is nothing but the comfort of a blanket
to shield me from the loneliness
darkness has a way of magnifying things
and while dawn can chase some of it away
it lingers long after.
Romance is overrated
I lie to myself
as I curl in the corner of the couch
chasing the knowledge of love
yet writers pretend
and I am all too willing to believe their lies
over my own
and what I am missing burns behind my eyes.
Wishes and dreams are naught
strings of the marionette
pulling and twisting hither and yonder
morphine for the masses
endorphin chasers
chocolate and sex
though chocolate is safer
and will not disappoint you in the end.
Alice and I share a kinship
I haven’t tumbled down the hole
but the mad hatter sits at my table
pity he’s my conscious
and the rabbit
he’s at my table too
a feast fit for a knave.
In a way I am lost
Robinson Caruso sans a Friday
William Golding’s vision of life
only less violent
I’d claim it was a blessing of my gender
but violence is the nature of any beasts
male or female.
His eyes flash
with the knowledge of my capitulation
it is only a minor one
I shall roar to life
and gnaw on the scattered bones
of my oppressor
pity it’s often myself that is the culprit.
My sunshine wanders
warm flesh pulsing in my hand
my lips pushing into softness
I want to stay in this tender moment
only these moments are few
and far between
and subverts my nature.
Perhaps I am destabilized
a contradiction
an amalgam of two disproportionate parts
ying and yang
kissing in the moonlight
under the glow of the mystical ages.
Fairytales don’t exist
in this sad farce
though I wish upon a star
watching it supernova under the weight
wanting the mythical
trapped with the realistic
too many things to reconcile.
Frayed puzzle pieces
broken bits of living
pounded together
my caricature
my sorrow
my love
my life.
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