He is...

Mine - desperate for touch
Moving in beautiful truths
Kiss me - kiss me please

Attractive to fault
Why creators create eyes
Just look - let me look

Air drums and guitar
Jeans too tight for his junk - and -
my skirt's lock and key

Storm

So rise as the tempest
Your dick is the limpest
I need it to fuck and to suck

It may sound obsessive
But I'm just aggressive
Don't like it you're shit out of luck

Don't try to deny it
You know I can ride it
I put other bitches to shame

They call me a slut
I don't give a fuck
'Cause that's my kind of fame

No's not an answer
I grind like a dancer
You know this is what you need

If practice makes perfect
then know that I'm worth it
On guys like you, I feed

Don't be so shy
Just give it a try
Make no attempt to fight

Your friends will be jealous
'Cause they'll never get this
I guess tonight is your night

Sit back and enjoy
You're a man not a boy
So use me as you please

I'll give into my lust
In that you can trust
This girl is not a tease

Don't mistake my intentions
For loves intervention
You're just another lay

Now let's take this home
Where I'll make you moan
Then send you on your way

So rise as the tempest
Your dick is the limpest
I need it to fuck and to suck

It may sound obsessive
But I'm just aggressive
Don't like it you're shit out of luck

They... We

Somehow “they” has become we... I blame myself.

We lie with smiling eyes as we spread our thighs for drunken boys only because their letters match our own.

We put our pussies out on loan.

We fake short breaths and moans to protect fictional thrones they believe six weeks of hell has earned them.

We turn them-
out

Inside we scream and shout as we
project perfection
pretend affection
and fear rejection stemmed from the detection of unique thought.

We are one.

We share skin dyed by artificial sun and blacked-out nights assumed to have been fun

We unite only in our fallacy.

We deny our deviance with utmost obedience.
We contrive fantasies of independence
as we pass down deciet to our decendants.

We walk through the quad unaware that we're the joke.

Surrounded by people we're empty shells.
Each of us trapped in our own personal cells

I didn't know I'd be pledging hell.

At the very beginning you learn to fabricate on comand.
We watch our small purjuries as they expand
I wish I was strong enough to take a stand.

But I can't.

To him...

Lanky Limbs imitate boys in Timbs, not making fun, but appreciating.
Yes, some might find you irritating –

But you fit me just right.

I worship you each night as I fight the urge to call

Maul me.

Eat me alive!

I’ll enjoy it.

I fear that I’ll destroy it…

This feeling you have for me.

I want you times infinity –
and then plus one.

Yes, this is fun for now –
But I think I could do it forever.

The words you use are clever.

They blind me – they
recline me into my imperfect spot on your perfect bed.

I replay the things you’ve said obsessively.
Each syllable fills my chest compressively.

---I’m short of breath---

Digressively,

I love how you fuck so aggressively.

Put me in my place –
And that’s a fearful demand because I’m under your command
and you know it
because I lustfully show it with each visit

“Is this how you want it, Daddy?”
“Is it?”

But, in all actuality, it’s your personality in its totality that keeps me returning.
It’s that constant yearning to feel your warm breath burning my cheek as you whisper something sweet into my ear.

Back to that word fear.

It’s not that I’m a coward or yellow
but it’s hard to stay mellow when you’re addicted to a fellows presence.

It’s your essence that’s appealing.
It’s that glitter on your ceiling.
It’s that comforting feeling when I’m kneeling at your feet.

It’s like my thoughts are on repeat.
A skipping CD in my mind –
It’s just that I never thought that I would find one of my own kind with so little effort

I guess I could get hurt –
but that’s half the fun.

This time I won’t run.

I release control.

I’m Zen in my meditation –
I’m cool in my desperation –

I trust with no hesitation that I’ll keep my reservation in your heart.
Though my location’s been an issue from the start –
I’m an master in the art of Que Sera

So, whatever will be will be
And the last words to you from me are that I’m undoubtedly, uncontrollably, and inconsolably

In like with you.

A poem started at 18 and finished at 21

My head is spinning.

I know that you are winning and it’s killing me to feel the alcoholic poison course through my veins, coat your words and turn them into sugar cane.

I know it’s pessimistic but its truth-

I let myself be blinded by my youth.

Topless and cold I wonder how old you have to be to understand the concept of common courtesy.

Cover me.

This frustration just my murder me-

or take control of me and turn me into something that I don’t want to be.

Its days like these that I hate you.

I want to rip open your chest and infest you
Ingest you from the inside out then digest you.

But its not your fault.

With little contemplation its easy to see this entire situation is just a demonstration-

A manifestation of my destiny,
of my need and my want of a man who is less than me

Admittedly,

A fraction of this distraction is simply a reaction to the obsessive attraction that I have to you...

If you knew the things that I would do to you-

I’m glad you don’t!

I know you can’t be trusted,
I still haven’t adjusted to hating you after you and that girl you thrusted got busted.

But the largest issue of relevance is my intelligence-

At eighteen I should be celibate
But when it comes to you-

Its like I’m selling it.

I wish I could concentrate you
Dilute you with water and penetrate your soul.

Because to be perfectly honest
I don’t like you whole.

I like bits and pieces-
Milliseconds of time when I see you have a heart
When I know we’ll never be apart
And you’ll always want me--
But you still hurt me--

Your ability to mindlessly jerk me around disconcerts me.

You’re an expert in my patterns.

Like a ring around Saturn you confine me-
Like a vulture in the sky you define me as something dead that you can eat

Forgive me for sounding emo but I can’t express the damage you have caused without dark-rimmed glasses and too long bangs.

N to 2 Departure

Whispers in his bedroom:

“I’ll miss you terribly.”
His more quiet than hers, “I’ll miss you too.”

Now in the hall:
“Good night.”
“We’ll speak soon”
“Goodbye.”

Each word said between kisses. Her last landed on his cheek. For an instant she questioned why he’d turned away. Then the door closed behind her.

In her mind, she watched as he locked the door, turned down the hall and walked back to his bedroom. She mentally matched his long strides as she made her way down the street. “1,2,3...” she silently counted their steps in opposite directions, stopping at twelve, the approximate number it would take him to return to his bed. Knowing she was finally out of sight she lit a cigarette. She let the smoke fill her chest and slowly exhaled through her nose. She’d been ignoring this craving during the hours they’d spent together. A sacrifice she was all too used to by now.

She paused at the corner, letting the taste of his pleasure and her menthol seep into her tongue.

Red Light-

She continued walking down the street, letting her sleepy mind wander as her eyes and ears focused in on any impending danger. This was not the first time she’d been alone on a city street in the dead of night. She’d perfected the skill of being both aware and unaware all at once. As she approached the train she worried she wouldn’t be able to finish her cigarette in time. Rushing her last few puffs she closed her eyes, enjoying the familiar and momentary nicotine high.

“This,” she thought, “is what creates addicts.”

Tripping up the first few stairs, the clumsy girl made her way to the turnstile, up more filthy steps and onto the platform. She entered the half opened doors and slid down into an empty seat.

A man followed closely behind her.

She methodically sized him up. She observed dirty white sneakers, jeans-too-tight, a mock turtle neck and a watch-just-a-bit-too gaudy. Would she ever be with a man like him? Was he her type in any shape or form? In less than a minute she played their entire potential relationship in her mind. She saw herself telling their children that their father had stumbled on a subway car right behind her. She looked the man up and down again and concluded that the answer to her questions was no.

Her eyes searched through the other passengers- first the ones that had gotten there before her followed by the ones that rushed onto the train after: All men, as usual, all drunk, or sleepy or fat or old or imperfect in some other sense and all -hopefully- harmless. As she waited for the train to pull out of the station she attempted to will herself awake.

Sleeping on midnight trains is dangerous.

Always ride in the center car.
Find a spot near a group of women.

She replayed her mother’s words in her mind. They slipped through conscious and unconscious thoughts. It was too late. Her almond shaped eyes became thin white lines on her round face, her full bottom lip separated from the top creating a small heart between them and the deep breathing began. She was asleep.

She slept deeply, waking only for the seconds where the train doors opened, exposing her lace covered legs to cold wind and light snow.

To be continued whenever I decide to finish it...