Under tan, stained skin
This blood screams for it
Like the whistle from your teapot
Taste me you’ll taste the truth

Wasn’t made to wait
I was made to make
Take, tear, sigh, leak for this
Drip Drip
Lips pulling my skin inside

You – me – him – you too
None of us matter
So what does it matter
We all look alike
We all stretch with impoverish
Touch me

Bind my body crush my spine
Choke my thirst with each finger tip
Tremble with each and every
Thrust
Controlled. Practiced and disciplined

Now leave don’t look back
You, you stay
Console me
I just died so good
Hurts and I love it

You do too.
I love you
But not here
You’re a means to an end
Because it’s always gonna end

But you – are everything
Devouring glances
Inhale me like life
We smell sinful
Take me again

****

Artist Statement: 

Write what scares you. This is the mantra I’ve been reciting and dodging for over a year. If I wrote the truth – then I’d have to relive it – and even scarier than that – I’d finally have to let it go.  So here are my baby steps. Time to look into the mirror and recognizing who I really am – now – after. Love lost left me sinking into a quicksand I like to call “identity crisis”. The transition of living as a “we” to an “I” is daunting and unfulfilled. Coping soon became realizing all the parts of myself I’d been ashamed of and snuffed out over time.  All those things I’d been told I wasn’t supposed to be. Too dominant, too sexual, too sad, too emotional, too sensitive.

As a direct result of not becoming Mrs. (insert ex’s name here) – I became another me. The complex, often dark, insatiable force who bores easily and plays frequently. Perhaps I should be grateful? Say thank you?  But I don’t think I will . . .

So here are the thoughts of a modern coping woman. A blend of tears and savagery