hitching

there's no peace in this decision
no lifting up no softening,
in place is a heaviness
that hitches my breath
and makes it hard to breathe.
this isn't what i want now
this isn't what i deserve
this isn't a path i need tread,
strangled and stayed
and still nowhere
but to a hitch in my breath
and a slip in my step.
there's no quiet adoration
no looks i can't escape
no hands that stroke me lovingly
and leave me panting til dawn
only a heaviness on my chest
above an empty space
where someone elses heart should be.

i think i want more. but i'm not sure i want it, or could even get it, from him.

i'm ready for someone to actually care.

no no no no no

it's not fair.

he's not allowed to write to me now.

he's not allowed to say 'love you girl'.

he's not supposed to respond, just as he never did before.

no no no no no no no.

fuck.

mistaken identity

i posted this on another blog, in a semi-private way. c left me a message when he found out that he was blocked from reading, called me chicken. i think he thinks it was meant for him. it wasn't. it was for p.

remembering him softly

the way i would look at him
the way he called me gorgeous and sexy
they way he announced my arrival at every show
his shows. not mine.
the way he would tear up when he talked about his family
or music
or her
the little bounce that he would do when he was happy or excited
the scruff on his neck
the length of his cock
and how i died to take every inch and breath of him within me
the way i watched him walk away at the airport
and wanted so badly to run after him
to kiss him
to touch him as he had touched me
soul deep
his phone calls at 2 am
the first call he made after he was robbed
looking for his truck through every city street
the way it felt to leave him so far behind
and to be left by him ever since.

how is it, pie, that you're still breaking my heart?

how she did it

she gave a look like skirts lifting
over soft thighs and round hips
she gave a look like sweaters dropping
from shoulders to the floor
she sighed like satin sheets
smooth and full of lustful whispers
she sighed like she'd been promised
to be stroked and to be adored

she'd forgotten how his eyes met hers
she'd forgotten how he smelled
when he first arrived at her door
and even more, the morning after
she'd forgotten to remember him

thanks and apologies

thanks to the people in the other car, who blared thier horn and scared him off. i'm okay just shaken, and scratched.

and to the 'gentleman' who thought it was a good idea to try to force me into my car, who scratched my chest and tore my shirt, who broke my necklace and made it hard to breathe... i'm afraid i left some skin under your nails. my apologies.

sure, you ruined my night, but i think i may have ruined your manicure. and for that, i'll surely go to hell.

i hope the police are able to find you, i hate to think of you running the streets with your nails all fucked up.

not home (uncut)

i don't want to go home. not tonight.
i want to stay in this space
where nothing's fucked up yet
where nothing's destroyed
where there's only the dark and the possiblity and
wet expectation of your lips brushing me.
i don't want to go home. not in the morning.
i want to fall into the rising sun
lit behind your eyes for hours
after day has broken and rushed on
til we're suprised to see the moon
as it all passed in an instant.
i don't want to go home. not tomorrow.
i want to close the doors and all the windows on the world
and walk laughingly with you
thru crowded empty streets
tracing the changing tide
and chasing the wind across dirt paths to waterfalls.
i don't want to go home. not without you.
not without the sweetness of your words
and the savageness of your sex
not without the dizzy feeling of your touch
or was it too much wine,
regardless my cheeks are flushed, skin alight.
i don't want to go home. not yet.
i want to slip silk smooth between your thoughts
between your arms
i want to learn your emotions by the look in your eyes
i want to learn your topography by touch and taste
and still be constantly suprised by you.
i don't want to go home. not because i should.
i can't settle for what's expected of my demographic
becoming the median thirty-something
kids on the way
life out of the way
nothing in the way of adventure or risk or unprecedented passion.
i don't want to go home. and i don't want to be lost.
i don't need the comfort of overstuffed couches and goose down
i don't need an overpaid 9 to 5 and 401K
but i do need the security provided by your hands
finding me in the night and pulling me closer
into you and your world
until i am part of your continuity and constancy.
i don't want to go home. but i want to know i have one.
i want to feel the pull of expectation
firmly on my hips
i want to feel the pull of anticipation
just to be in your eyes
and the light in them when you see me.
i don't want to go home. and i don't want you to either.