inner spaces: Hurt

Saturday, August 23, 2014

Hurt

sometimes
a child
ripping open
his precious gift

sometimes
a knife
struggling through
cling wrap

sometimes
a toothpick
stuck into
a piece of fruit

sometimes
the sandpaper grit
rubbing against
tender skin

hurt
digs
deep
and
stays
with
me.

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there is a place,
a sanctuary,
somewhere inside,
where I can rest
without clothes,
without mascara,
without painted lips
singing staccato songs,
and waxed skin glowing
in its unnatural perfection,
where I am there
for my eyes only,
without mindless wanderings,
without seductive snares,
without violating what I love most,
without settling for anything less
than who I am and want to be,
where I can speak with my own voice,
not waiting to be received or extolled,
where I can stand
in front of my heart's desire
and not twitch a muscle or breath,
where I can hold and burn in the fire
of my own wildness and maverick self
unleashed without walls and checks,
where I can claim my gifts,
my humanness,
and a lifetime of stories
waiting to be heard and released
into the orgasmic mystery
of all that is and isn't me,
for my eyes only.

come with me....
...as I take you there....

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Saturday, August 23, 2014

Hurt

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