impure acts of retribution. acrostic challenge

I haven't written many acrostics lately... I was trying to try other styles, but this one happened so quickly in my mind, I couldn't resist penning it.





Infected with your games of
Manipulation and seduction
Professing pleasure when it's really power- I am
Unclean and seeking redemption;
Reparations for the acts that left me
Empty and licentious, with an

Anger that breeds self destruction...
Chastised by those who don't understand the
Terror instilled in victims of
Sexual violence.

Overwhelmed with guilt
Feeding into shame and

Responsibility for actions no one could control
Even perpetrating the same learned
Tragic deeds on others
Repeating the cycle, reparations for
Impeded healing, and
Being forced to deny the
Undeniable- left
Trembling with trepidation.
In a once peaceful dream, fairytales shift-
Once upon a time becomes once again, and
Nothing ever changes that…

anne sexton

"Death starts like a dream, full of objects and my sister's laughter. We are young and we are walking and picking wild blueberries all the way to Damariscotta." Anne Sexton.

evanesce.

I really like trying to find poetry challenges online, but for some reason I don't care to share my writing with those communities. Probably because i don't really like much of what I write. I never really know until after i write it and read it a few times. Sometimes i like it, sometimes I tweak it, and sometimes it's just shit and i try and try to like it, but eventually i delete it because its unlikeable. but i digress... once upon a time i had disordered eating habits. I also was a compulsive exerciser. I did those things because my life was out of control. I was depressed and unhappy in almost every aspect of it, so I made goals that I knew i could attain and it became my focus, my power. And I was good at it. Certain things in my life made my unhealthy habits worse (or better depending on how you view it); my childhood, college, marriage, and being robbed and assaulted at gunpoint etc. Anyhow that's where this came from...



163 and free
But you see my frightened female frame
So I
compress
condense
constrict
contract
restrict
to 142
a matrimonial merger
I am still full and flawed
Territorial expanse
Taking up space
Still can’t erase this place
I’m in
When I see you staring, glaring
Daring to make out shapes and forms
Hips
Breasts
So I fade...
coalesce to evanesce
but I digress to 122
with a gun in my face
And you want to disgrace my space
with what’s about to take place-
this time I'll fight back
118, 112, 104
Recede retire retreat
100… even…
Even if we’re not.

They are still there
Hips
Breasts
The downward spiral begins
Circling
Winding
D O W N
to 89
and things are fine
Nothing fits
Absent tits
Shrinking hips
But my mind slips
And trips…
No longer stable or able and
Euphoria
Takes over
I no longer feel the need to fade

Away

she

she drinks stars like
the moon drinks the tide
basks in the envy of herself
like she was a prize
i watch her
move rhythmically about the floor
like she were one with the axis of time
my heart jumps
at the nearing of her hand
as i watch her pounce
and run about the stage
i find our stories are more alike
than something that wasn't so close to human
she breaks down, she laughs
she is ugly with beauty
from her head to her feet
she is something I am not
she is full human
quite small
but she is not fragile
she is a mouth ready to swallow
the world in one gulp
she cries blue-green tears
from saltwater seas
the rouge upon her lips
is like revolutionary ecstasy
every time i pretend
to kiss her
though I am unworthy
of such grace
passion like that
should not be wasted
on a mere admirer
she tells the stories
that could never leave my tongue
she paints my life in circles
she makes living seem like triumph
she makes death feel like a sin
she cries, she hurts, she wonders
imagines, breathes, fucks, laughs
she is the essence of what the world needs to be
she is beyond definition

Crosswalk

Crosswalk

The thoughts squeal past like
yellow checkered taxi cabs in this subconscious metropolis
The meter counts off with a patronizing
click-tick, the time until her sanity expires
Each landmark of familiarity is now molted from
confusion and hesitation’s oily exhaust.
“Walk this way” seeps into“Yield”
Curves of adventure merge into narrow lanes
Lights wink “Proceed with caution,”
as sirens resound akin to St. Gabrielle’s trumpet
Meanwhile she’s hallucinating on the curb
teetering on the cement cliff
battling those angry metal giants of commerce and status
in her grown-up garb.
“I just want to get there.”
She mumbles
to the white gloves and the face with the whistle.
Remembering when this
adrenaline rush-hour was all that mattered
and forgetting the locale of this eventual
destination.
Looking over her shoulder to determine
exactly where on the intersection
she lost her compass and keys.
Empty hands pull fluff from woolen pockets
as she searches with disbelief
amid her determination.

guarded

Where is this heart?
Trodden and misplaced –
it is kept apart from those with sharp talons.
Gilded wings sweep it skyward,
Safe from the depths of this musty place.
Smoky and deceitful, smoldering illusion,
spider web tails
that give the impression of a home once coveted.
But the rays of truth
show favor.
The gods have made place for comfort.
Safe and separate from their world.
Its kept snuggly, like a faded photograph
in a locket
tucked beneath layers.
And like rungs on a ladder to climb
it is out of reach from your seeking hands
and soft quilted words that are wanton belief.
Like a majesty on her thrown –
arrogance cast down to your countenance.
safe at last
it beats weakly,
tied in crimson bows of time.

fragile

There's nothing new to this hurt process
Wasting trust, squandering feelings like tokens.
Though, I recollect when dreams formed unsullied
stacked like wedding china
And I, a bride for the world

single room apartment for rent- a short story. For mature readers only

What some may define as a casual affair, ours was not. Despite her insistence that she remain “single,” semantics flooded us and long, overly-analytical conversations ensued. The truth is, none of it mattered. My priorities are commissioned to one insatiable, appetent, need: tempestuous, unrelenting, libidinous ... need. I opted to be content with the knowledge that at least once, I had topped her list of things on which to meditate and/or masturbate. Every chance to touch was the beginning of a brand new affair. I wanted to take her exactly as a woman would, breathless and constant, worshiping between her opened thighs. The thrust of my hips translated to the curl in my fingertips- my need to please her. I folded my legs and settled myself in at the head of her well-balanced meal. The rocking is easy as it begins, one finger testing the satin-like waters ahead. The eye contact between us is steady and teasing in this moonlit room. She’s searching for my happiness in the quest for her final thrust. I’m searching for the look that’s coming soon. Her eyes roll slowly back into her reeling head; sweet moans stumble softly from her lips. I let my eyes drop to the task at hand. Watching my fingers disappear and re-appear into her salivating-- mouth. Occasionally I ease back to tease against her pulse. She’s begging me to return, humping my hand with silent pleas. My own lips transform my smile into something evil, a half-smile, a spiraling descent. My left hand slides behind her waist to anchor her for the ride. My right hand is 7 degrees warmer than the other. I moisten my fingers one by one before folding three of them together and nestling them deeply inside her little single room apartment for rent. However this is categorized, whatever we should call this; I am here now, in my element. Others have oxygen and food, my list, for now, glistens in the glow of her (dare I say it?) eager cunt. Faster, faster, my own exhales mix with her gasping breaths. I’m urging her on as she starts to cradle her own clit with fervent intent. Her free hand reaches out to pull on my nipple, a stern gesture of appreciation. Our movements fall in sync as I reposition myself over her rolling, undulating, sweaty form. With her eyes closed and mouth open I give in to temptation and position my pinched nipples against her parched and pleading lips. She sucks hungrily at each one while I speed the rhythm between her legs. Her thighs are closing in on my sinking forearm as I bend my fingertips up, pulling waves from the sweetest spot. The night air of the open window carries away the sounds of our love. Her deep guttural moans, punctuated with subsequent involuntary purrs, chase my words through the holes in the bedroom screen. Her breath settles as her arms snuggle me closer in. She cups my face in her hands and kisses me deeply, letting me believe, if only for tonight, that I truly am the only one.




***** This needs work. I dislike some of the language.******** i seem to write so many sexual poems, i had to try out a story... the weird part is I don't try to write sexual poems.. they just somehow end up that way....

Grace

Patience marches away
Sometimes the exodus is through a sigh
A simple exhale of release-
Senses closed in benediction to your God.
Prayer for simplicity,
for Tao’s uncarved block
peace of mind or hell or whatever...
anything that will pacify the next instant.
Creeping, sluggish, demons of doubt
wait to drape about you
but a sudden rush of wings around
you fans them a w a y.
Your chains are freed.
Your thoughts are your own.
No longer borrowed.
Breathe.
Until the girl you once were laughs in your ear.
Easy now.
Calm
To be one whole heartbeat
within the chaos.
You become the zen
The sleeping eyes in the restless wake of day.
To resume once more.
Doing -Being -
Whoever you were two minutes or twenty years ago.
Simple, your own earthsister,
soulmother,
born both of fire and rain.
Once again, humbled by the divine
Grace
you’d forgotten.

before they land

I look back at the measured seams,
bantam buttons,
tidy patten shoes...
I can never fit back into that girl,
that lifetime, again.
Seeds falling from my hand
bloom before they land.




my mojo disappeared with that last round of thunder... damn. another unfinished thought...oh well. no point forcing it. until we meet again....

sleep

Sleep is sitting outside my windowsill, like a fairy poised and impish, fleeting and illusive,

a mystery for one more hour.

Tea cup

Watching adolescent hands become womanly ones;
gentle angel-kissed and time-blessed extensions of my grandmother
coax me from the passage of my former self.
Each time I lift a tea cup
there is a a story that is passed between the two of us.
Now I see in the compact those round blue eyes,
fashioned like those
from a dime store cupie doll,
unexplicablly wiser than yesterday’s
or so I recall.
But in this soul is a wickedly young banchee child
is screaming with joy.
Ponytails damp with summer’s sweet sweatpuddle -
wet feet tapping out a limerick on the sidewalk.
She is sucking honeysuckle from the side of the house
and riding pastel chalk drawn ponies in her mind.

Liasons

This one is from a hundred word challenge:


Oh, to hap your gaze with poise,
not aversion to diagonals,
to perpendicular places
where our conversation
orbits my senses
and reconciles itself
for senseless sentiment.

And oh, those thoughts,
those thoughts of coy clandestine meetings
flushing to my cheeks...

I cast myself before these times
when love
was only a flitting, flirting word
in folded stationary
and creased paperbacks.
here you are
alight to my unbelieving eyes,
pecking gently on this pane
like a blue-jay...

I, the cruel absent-minded mistress,
beckoned you
to my outstretched hand,
but I have no golden corn for you-
'twas only a child's game.

Playdate

We’re eluding this
uneasy love
like children tagging along
in summers yawning nightfall.
Only two parents of nature
could end this careless sprint,
this reckless spell:
cupid and fate.

Slipping

I slip
Between things now.
Ideas of what you said were
W e l l - i n t e n t i o n e d;
Between Wednesday and Saturday
The clock slipped, too.
Rings on my fingers slipping off,
There is less of me to fall between the cracks.

machete

I'm tearing through the underbrush of my mind, scratching the floor of my existence to try and find what it is that is the element of it all. What does it come down to? Disappointingly, I cannot hunt or corner it. I cleave to this urge to machete my way through it all: the pain, the sentiments, the memories, the faces and if I must, through the days. Is there a still pool somewhere? I thirst, with no cup and dirty hands.

time and space

...those are the words that come to mind when I think of my family. I need time. Lots of time. I always will. And the distance between us will always be too great, and too close at the same time. I wonder if they think of me as me, or if I'm still the person they created when I lived with them. The child who didn't speak for most of her adolescence, the child who tiptoes around them and does as she's told. The child who won't stop trying to please them. No matter how many times I try to show them I'm not her, they still won't see me. But I see them every time I look in the mirror. Sometimes his face looks back, other times it's hers. I'm not sure which I hate more.