I often wonder about notions,
an idea, plays out in my head,
I formulate my own opinion,
a funny sort of discrete decision.
Not yet, my mind tells me,
not ready to share with anyone else,
and there begins the battle,
because I do,
I so want to,
there’s a part of me that wants to free the world,
my world I suppose,
actually, our world,
because I think, wait a second, I mean,
we all seem to … have a want;
so that everyone around me will know
what’s in my head,
what I’m imagining,
Thinking about this.
I know how
can see the distance is real
a universal reality
We all notice when we take
Question is how do we ever
Really know why, beside some doctrine
told me, told her, you, me, every other,
we can lose time
but I chose a blind eye,
if only a short while;
it was there I began to know love.
I have become bored with lust,
well, that reciprocity thing is the cause
I suppose it was a matter of time,
before one more eye roll
while another shift in posture,
indeed, I imagine it was that glare,
caused me to suggest perhaps
aspirations were beginning to
falter in an exceedingly
pretentious sea of sardonic sanity.
I won’t make light of losing desire,
of withering toward an aging leaf,
crestfallen and snapping as life steps
firmly upon the soil of reality.
I’m simply bored with wanting when we wander
through life with constant parameters
legs that would kill if given the chance …
‘hurt me please’
Yup, I’m a little tired of lust.
I struggled for a long time with understanding why she left,
I wanted to explain, whenever I could,
yet each time I tried she managed to leave the room bereft
of any desire to listen to that I would
suggest to be my truth.
I often felt the urge to just tell her I was only scared,
and then if I did that,
well certainly she would run streets narrowed
to discover a simple rat
wanting her truth.
I think the most frightening aspect of coming to terms
with our humanity, who we are,
want to become, feel we need to be, is the lectern
we decide is the standard bar,
that knows our truth.
I remember one day when she said she had this piece
no one would ever know, she would keep,
and yet I somehow could never then feel anymore peace
knowing apart from me she might sweep
away her own truth.
So when walking down Main street America, I looked in her eyes
thought better of myself, today, might be wise.
When she looks in a mirror her happiness is real,
she wears a certain type of jeans to look surreal
the curves of her inner thighs gel with delicious ass
that walk we want to see when she feels that sass.
Can you imagine the peril a woman has endured
when society suggests we take life at its word.
She looks hot enough to warm an arctic chill
yet we decide our disadvantage concerns her still
I wonder if when glancing by a certain window pane
if she might notice her frame fragrant as summer rain.
Might sweet bodice ignite a fire in everyman’s eye
be the talent the grace the elegance in a smile shy.
Will we ever please allow her quiet reflective release
to remain simply a cherished glamour; give her peace.
I didn’t wish for peace,
I didn’t ask for justice
I didn’t call out names
I didn’t paint a canvas
I didn’t send a note
I didn’t wait for anyone
Only then did I change