Yearning

Summery springs make it hardest. The thought of you fills my mind, my tongue screams to taste you. It hurts to want what can’t be mine, to watch you be another’s pleasure, to remember when all of you was part of me. It hurts to be without.

It’s natural—
once sunkissed,
skin will yearn for heat
under the caresses
of the moon.

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the (not so) wee notes…
– Poetry is living’s and feeling’s lovechild, words that feed on (almost) everything the poet is and does. I shared the heart bit above (that sounds like a cool name for the 2nd part of the poem) on a Crohn’s disease forum. We were talking about all the foods we miss the most, when someone said, “It’s not so bad. Everything can be replaced with something else that’s almost just as good.”

My thoughts, you wonder? Well, in my case that assessment is incorrect when it comes to most foods. I haven’t been able to find something to truly replace coffee, fried foods, cheese, or my beloved yogurt. In fact, this bit of deep, deep, deep poetry was inspired by my having to eat dairy free yogurt. It’s not that yogurt made with coconut milk is a horror, but the one made with whole milk is so much yummier *wails in wild despair*.

I’m sharing it today, as background for my reply to an Instagram follower who asked, “Where does your relationship poetry come from?” It comes from everywhere: personal interactions, reactions to my environment, of course, from my yogurt yearnings.

– Linked to Poets United ~ Poetry Pantry 345

parchment – half of a tea bag (passion flower tea)
background – recycled paper
yellow/orange/red rose petal (looks like a flame, doesn’t it?)
red thread (and my tenderly wild touch)

You Will Rot

“Self-love is so important. Because when you’re all alone and it’s 3 in the morning and you’re lying on the floor crying and shaking and wishing it all would end, who’s going to be there for you? You. You have to pick yourself up and find the strength to carry on. At the end of the day, you’re all you’ve got.” ~ via All Women’s Talk

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Selfishness
was once a goddess
killed by man.
I reclaimed her might
back to life, for me.

You want me
meek, shushed at your feet?
Dumb man-child,
your dream will not be—
my tongue whips silence.

The right words
demolish dogma,
defeat lies.
Hear my wild heart roar
change, and be reborn.

“Selfish!” you
shout, and I laugh, laugh—
I love me.

You (your shouts) and your insecurities will rot before I change my Self.

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a wee note…
– Linked to Protest and Outrage: Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month, and to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

Frida Kahlo and Chavela Vargas
via Pinterest

Must Love Freaks

She says that I was born with luck sitting on my hand and charm dancing on the tip of my tongue. “People love you,” she tells me, “they want that… something shining out of you.”

I smile at her, all magic and creepy teeth, wondering if she ever kisses her mirror.

You must love
freakishly wild things
to love me,
caress chaos’ soul
and moan for balance.
.

a wee note…
– Someone told me that she “hated being so weird”, that she wished she was “normal and cool like [me]”, so that people would like her as much as they seemed to like me. No, my Wicked Luvs, I did not laugh hysterically at the thought of anyone thinking me “normal” (I was not offended, either). But I did wonder if the someone in question ever realized that a person who doesn’t like herself will have a rather difficult time getting others to like her.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform. Kerry asked us to link a song to our poem, and I’m linking the song that inspired me to wear my weird as a fiery flag: “Pelo Suelto”, by Gloria Trevi. You can watch the video HERE, and read my translation of the Spanish lyrics HERE.

The socks are a birthday gift from Rommy, and Wicked Green (the frog) is a gift from some of “the coolest old-ass fighters” (their words, not mine) the military has ever produced.