August 27, 2018
They broke up
I’m moving
Swam in Spanish Banks with a friend
Thought about noodles and nooses
Alive another day
Everything is ok
What is ok?
You are still breathing
What is ok?
No one is hurting you
What is ok?
You are safe
What is ok?
No one is abandoning you
What is ok?
No one is leaving you
What is ok?
No one is mad at you
What is ok?
You are loved
What is ok?
You have nourishment
What is ok?
There is no danger at this moment
What is ok?
You are creating
What is ok?
You are releasing
What is ok?
Your loved ones are here
What is ok?
Call and they will be there
What is ok?
It will get easier
What is ok?
It will get better
What is ok?
What is ok?
Is it ok to stop asking now?
Untitled
I am the vessel with a thousand needles
And they have kept me together
From falling apart
I am the ship with a thousand threads
Travelling in my journey
But never going very far
I am the voice of a thousand songs
Of which none of them is mine
For I have never heard my hum
I am the desire for a thousand whales
To take a deep breath
And dive deep into the abyss
I am the kick of a thousand drums
Searching for the beat of my heart
The ever-longing of a call right back to me
And when I found my heart
I heard the power of a single drum
Within the heart of a whale
Pulling a thousand threads
Hooked to a thousand needles
One long push and one long pull
A thousand times of hanging on to my bruised body
Leaving one thousand and one scars
For my beautiful life….For one thousand lifetimes
Untitled
If you ever choose to leave,
...I will understand.
And sing until it’s time…
for me…to go...
Glacier Bay
I cried when I saw Glacier Bay
My tears and grief and anger could not come
faster than the ice could fall
I felt hopeless for home
That the innocence of a flutter
And the denial of minds and hearts
Can break this sense of home for manufactured prison cells
This Dieverse Body
diversity
divisity
diminishing
decentering
dead colour bodies
on the streets
in the houses
by the beats
gendering
misgendering
misculturaling
mislabeling
decapitalizing
decolonizing
depowerizing
depatriarchalizing
these dieverse bodies
rainbow targets
or
shiny bowling pins?
the littlest minds
create the biggest wars
storms and bombs
bullets from fawns
diversity ain't no immunity
run from the insensitive
before insemination of apathy
attachments to
fallacies
of assimilation
assassination of identity
in infirmaristic societies
what about our dieverse bodies?
does it fit with your
linguistical
anomalistical
statistical
empirical
mislyrical
mechanicalistic
capital?
what do we have to do?
what do we have to say?
what do we have to silence?
Gag balls every day
what do we sacrifice?
what do we forget?
how do we hide
from the the ones that don't regret?
point on the head
shock to the chest
blow to the knee
the life is rest
families weep
babies forget
mass adorns
power elect
dieverse bodies
colouring books
one after another
breath on the hook
diverse bodies
laid to sleep
waiting for privilege
to sow and reap
心開
開心
Resilience
I left home to protect my family.
What I did not know was
that I
was a “one"
that needed protection
Dirty Laundry
Mom...what do I say to you?
Now that we are seventeen springs apart,
I have sat through seventeen winters with a memory of you
That keeps on stacking upon itself
It’s weird you know?
You are not dead...but why do I feel that sometimes you are?
Recently, I imagined you
Laying still on your bed
A quilted blanket over your soft body
Your body animated slightly by the impulses of your impending death
I imagined you slowly drifting
No you don’t die suddenly in my picture
Instead, you go, very slowly, peaceful and with no regrets…
I am not by your side.
But instead, I linger quietly at the door,
Like when I used to watch you sleep
Like you would watch me doze when I was your kid
I was ten years old when I first realized that one day you might leave
It was then that I always stood by the windowsill
Every night
The sweaty air pricks at my eyes
The salty tear linger and refusing to move
I used to cry mother
At the sky, at the gods and goddess I felt strangely attached to
That somehow there was someone beyond the stars that would
Know why I was crying
That they would take away a few years of my life and give them to you
Because I knew at ten that you would leave me one day
It made me love you deeply
It’s been seventeen summers
You are not dead...but why do I sometimes feel that I was the one that died instead?
I am no longer the boy you once knew
The boy that you never held tightly when I needed you to
The boy that wished so deeply for an embrace
I wish I was the child in one of those hollywood movies
Like every single late night sitcom
And family dramas
The culture I was inhaling was not mine
My colonized mind wanted to badly for you to be like
A mom in one of those white movies
But it never happened…Am I racist?
I gave up on dad a long time ago
The invisible scars of dad’s rattan cane
Still whips my body
I still feel the raised cane marks on my skin
And I remembered touching them after each whipping
I fell in love with them because I survived
I survived each beating and those marks became what I thought I am
I survived each threat that he made to me
I gave up on dad a long time ago
Remember the washing machine in the kitchen?
She was my only friend at home
She protected me from the reins of dad’s cane
She took me by her side and shielded me from the wielding of patriarchy
She reminded me of who I hoped you might be
Not a white mom like in the movies
But one that I had hope would have stood up for me
Like the way the washing machine stood there between me and the cane, frozen,
witnessing the banshee screams of a
Helpless child
Helpless washing machine
Screaming her lungs out every time I was beaten
We both took our beatings
Mom, Seventeen autumns later...
I no longer remember who you are and why I want you to be different
Just as I had chosen to forget about the dad I knew.
I am no longer your dirty laundry
21 December, 2018
The lingering branch of thought
that stirs the waters
as I wade fearfully
into the fullness of roots and thorns
I used to think that I did well to avoid pain.
But I was hooked on the arms of time
And pain is a 7-11 store
That I have frequented since birth
And the signs on the roads
Had been staked into unfamiliar paths
Waiting to welcome
With sordid news that conjures
Violent images and "unintended consequences"
I used to think that I did well to love pain
But I was pinned on the nails of self-impalement
And blood is my late night supper
That I had been feeding myself...
Out of desperation
You see. I am an expert at being lonely
When it comes to hurting
Toughness is the scapegoat
Painted as a unicorn that people
believe can only be seen once in a while
...If you are lucky
I used to think that I did well to be pain
But I was sliced on the table
With angry lights projected at my body
And I saw
Faces I did not recognize
I suspended myself night after night
Upon window grilles and humid air
Sending messages to the stars
Wishing pain away for my protectors
I used to think that I did well to promote my pain
But there were no buyers that were willing to pay
The idling of worthiness
Found in a garbage pile of endless unwanted recycles
I used to think I did well to know pain
Until I discovered they knew me better...
Sometimes
Sometimes I wonder if I am too far gone,
when I feel internalized bondage strangling on my battered body.
Sometimes I wonder if I am too deeply grounded,
for the anchors holding me down were never mine to start with and they want to pull me towards burial.
Sometimes I wonder if I bled enough,
from the injuries pounded onto my body before I could say stop...I'm not a safe word for projections.
Sometimes I wonder if I hurt enough,
when sensations in my solar plexus just want to meet the
fearful coming of startling impacts and rhomboids fighting to be touched.
Coming Out Day
I'm not white
I am mixed race
I'm not male
I am non-binary
I'm not female
I am non-binary
I'm not tall
I am in some places
I'm not good looking
I am sexy
I'm not smart
I am relational
I'm not talented
I am a keen learner
I'm not simple
I am fucking complex
I'm not stable
I am in an unstable world anyways
I'm not rich with money
I am rich with love
I'm lazy
I am working 24/7 with a buddy name Trauma
I'm ugly
ooo...I am...
I'm not grounded
I am a fucking Virgo
I'm not fit enough
I am a body fit for loving
I'm not interesting
I am such a whole soul experience...
if you dare let me...
I'm not beautiful
I am gorgeous
I'm not one with tight abs
I am one with so many other body parts
I'm not worthy
I am not worthy of a miserable fucking life
I'm not shallow
I am an ocean bed of reflections
I'm not doing enough
I am tired
I'm not a subversion
I am an impression
I'm not coming out
I am coming out every moment
I'm not an exotic-fication
I am an essential fixation
I'm not coming out
I'm not coming out
I'm not coming out
I am going in
I am going in
I am going in
I'm not
I am
dedicated to everyone who feels and knows how complex "coming out" means. you and i know its not a singular direction of energy because every time we "come out", we also go in within ourselves to engage with the very painful and vulnerable mirrors that we carry.
coming out is not just an announcement.
coming out is an anchoring
through the craters of our emotional beings
and the daring to burn the livid imaginations of past experiences and inflictions
Coming Out Day … (Again)
emotional wave day
grounding day
hiding in day
reflective day
questioning day
anxiety day
cuddle day
muddle day
muggle day
raging day
grieving day
sleepless day
gentle day
chaotic day
who are my friends day
who is my family day
am i safe day
who do i lose day
who do i get to keep day
who do i get murdered by day
who do i get to sleep with day
why am i why i am day
my parents won't love me day
my parents accept me day
i celebrated me day
i cried like a waterfall day
i remember the times day
i want the day to finish day
my friends are waiting to celebrate me day
i wrote a letter day
i made a video day
i choose my pronouns day
misgendering day
correct gender day
i am queer day
i got disowned day
i collapse day
i found my chosen family day
i love myself day
i look at the mirror for a very long time day
i get a cake day
i get cake thrown at me by queer-phobes day
in the hospital day
i might get assaulted day
i have people who love me d
Maya
Love, so carefully guarded,
like songbirds in cages,
where their truth is clipped from
their wings,
and the music of intimacy is shrouded by fearful
clanging of chains.
Let love not be lost in cages
but be abundant in freedom.
For it is only then can love be
free
to be experienced in all directions;
in all ways
and it shall never be weary.
Let love be the ocean.
Let love be the air.
Let love be the universe.
Let love be infinite.
Let love be free.
Love is never lost.
Love is always present.
Love is freeing.
Love is freedom.
Gender Fuckery
Can we talk about this?
When gender fuckery gets assumed by
gender fucking binaries
in kink scenes
and in negotiations
in making mistakes
and learning to be better
Can we talk about this?
When you think that you are negotiating something
Only to realise that the person you were negotiating with
still do not get your gender non-binariness
but wants to play with you anyways
and then proceeds to treat you as a MAN or WOMAN
because they know not enough
how to play with a non-binary person
Can we talk about this?
The hetero-normative responses and attitudes
The assumptions projected through patriarchy, misogyny
to the curious
to the new
to the never-seen-before
to the never-touched-before
to the person wearing a beard and spotting a pink tutu
to the one that "looks" one way or another
because of a bulge, a cup, a moustache, Adam's fucking apple (not mine)
Can we talk about this?
The fuckery involved in folks wanting
to play with non-binary folks
but refuses to do the work to
understand or ask
and make mistakes
and learn with each other
about gender identities
body experiences
dysphoria
Can we talk about this?
The lack of ownership over one self's responses
and reflection
when wanting to play with someone
who shared that they have trauma
Non-binary folks are traumatised daily
from misgenderings and swallowing the
insensitivity down to the gut
Heartless comments fermenting and rotting
Spreading over sensory neurons and nervous system protections
Simply because someone is willing to play with a non-binary person
only to be let go
afterwards
because destructive behaviours
assumes power to exert exclusion
Can we talk about this?
In a non-binary way?
In a non-traumatising way?
In a way that builds safety?
In a way that builds community?
In a way that encourages non-binary folks
to access kinky play with trust?
In a way that fucks our gender expression in the way we want?
In a way that involves curiousity rather than non-consensuality of identity labels put onto people?
In a way that makes boundaries fun and not jarring?
In a way that makes for conversations that are reciprocal and meaningful rather than deceitful?
Can we talk about this?
Can we talk about this?
Because I can't.
Literary Exhibitionist
I do words
good words
words that make together natural\
words that slice through imaginary labels
ords that make dripping mercury on canned fish
a spacey disgusting pleasurable imagination
all kinds of fucking shit can happen here
but as a literary exhibitionist
I want to strip it all down
because i want to get to the space
and i want to reveal it all
while craving for other souls
to invade this space
and bring tears by the
beauty of all the pain and pleasure that
words can do
words can grow and words can kill
and I want to fuck the wrods up, just so that
I can dominate this imaginary space by subordinating to
the bondage of our literary experience
i speak five fucking languages
and yet, i am as limited as the words i recognize
can you strip me of literary limitation?
and show me a love i can never dare to lock into a phrase?
hold my body the way you would want me to hold your heart?
how much can i bare through my words
what else can i say when i keep feeling that i have nothing to say
but i obviously have a lot to express
this body is longing for full-body love
this soul is craving for the sweetness of pleasure
this heart is savouring the meeting of new relationships
and the energy of expression courses through my being
all at once
i feel the exhilaration
of dancing with my breath
fuck in fuck out
pain in pain out
space in space out
kink in kink never out
and i haven't even got to the body parts
the parts that are brewing right now
through the suggestion
of a memory
going back to the last soul experience that made you
burning through ecstacy
we are there again
scene snap scene snap
words
pictures
comments
comments
comments comment comment comment
comments comment comment comment
are we playing yet
come play with me
lets do a literary kink scene
fuck with my imagination
let your words cruise on me
make me your word slave
if you can
i want to fuck yours with my words
because words fuck deeper than a nine-inch dildo
my fucking cunt is hot
your breasts are gorgeous
put that dick in my mouth
im dripping wet
my nipples are erect
(in the moonlight)
i run my saliva down your pussy and let it hang for a moment
because in a second i'm serving your labia
inner and outer
upwards and downwards
you cover up your crotch in nervousness and suspension
someone might see you
you want to be seen
i want you to be seen
give it a push
right at your clit
and let ripples carry the numbness you experience on your back
shall i write more
are you a literary exhibitionist
come and share your perverted words with me
and let them drip your essence on my chest
so i may feel them with my heart
They broke up
I’m moving
Swam in Spanish Banks with a friend
Thought about noodles and nooses
Alive another day
Everything is ok
What is ok?
You are still breathing
What is ok?
No one is hurting you
What is ok?
You are safe
What is ok?
No one is abandoning you
What is ok?
No one is leaving you
What is ok?
No one is mad at you
What is ok?
You are loved
What is ok?
You have nourishment
What is ok?
There is no danger at this moment
What is ok?
You are creating
What is ok?
You are releasing
What is ok?
Your loved ones are here
What is ok?
Call and they will be there
What is ok?
It will get easier
What is ok?
It will get better
What is ok?
What is ok?
Is it ok to stop asking now?
Untitled
I am the vessel with a thousand needles
And they have kept me together
From falling apart
I am the ship with a thousand threads
Travelling in my journey
But never going very far
I am the voice of a thousand songs
Of which none of them is mine
For I have never heard my hum
I am the desire for a thousand whales
To take a deep breath
And dive deep into the abyss
I am the kick of a thousand drums
Searching for the beat of my heart
The ever-longing of a call right back to me
And when I found my heart
I heard the power of a single drum
Within the heart of a whale
Pulling a thousand threads
Hooked to a thousand needles
One long push and one long pull
A thousand times of hanging on to my bruised body
Leaving one thousand and one scars
For my beautiful life….For one thousand lifetimes
Untitled
If you ever choose to leave,
...I will understand.
And sing until it’s time…
for me…to go...
Glacier Bay
I cried when I saw Glacier Bay
My tears and grief and anger could not come
faster than the ice could fall
I felt hopeless for home
That the innocence of a flutter
And the denial of minds and hearts
Can break this sense of home for manufactured prison cells
This Dieverse Body
diversity
divisity
diminishing
decentering
dead colour bodies
on the streets
in the houses
by the beats
gendering
misgendering
misculturaling
mislabeling
decapitalizing
decolonizing
depowerizing
depatriarchalizing
these dieverse bodies
rainbow targets
or
shiny bowling pins?
the littlest minds
create the biggest wars
storms and bombs
bullets from fawns
diversity ain't no immunity
run from the insensitive
before insemination of apathy
attachments to
fallacies
of assimilation
assassination of identity
in infirmaristic societies
what about our dieverse bodies?
does it fit with your
linguistical
anomalistical
statistical
empirical
mislyrical
mechanicalistic
capital?
what do we have to do?
what do we have to say?
what do we have to silence?
Gag balls every day
what do we sacrifice?
what do we forget?
how do we hide
from the the ones that don't regret?
point on the head
shock to the chest
blow to the knee
the life is rest
families weep
babies forget
mass adorns
power elect
dieverse bodies
colouring books
one after another
breath on the hook
diverse bodies
laid to sleep
waiting for privilege
to sow and reap
心開
開心
Resilience
I left home to protect my family.
What I did not know was
that I
was a “one"
that needed protection
Dirty Laundry
Mom...what do I say to you?
Now that we are seventeen springs apart,
I have sat through seventeen winters with a memory of you
That keeps on stacking upon itself
It’s weird you know?
You are not dead...but why do I feel that sometimes you are?
Recently, I imagined you
Laying still on your bed
A quilted blanket over your soft body
Your body animated slightly by the impulses of your impending death
I imagined you slowly drifting
No you don’t die suddenly in my picture
Instead, you go, very slowly, peaceful and with no regrets…
I am not by your side.
But instead, I linger quietly at the door,
Like when I used to watch you sleep
Like you would watch me doze when I was your kid
I was ten years old when I first realized that one day you might leave
It was then that I always stood by the windowsill
Every night
The sweaty air pricks at my eyes
The salty tear linger and refusing to move
I used to cry mother
At the sky, at the gods and goddess I felt strangely attached to
That somehow there was someone beyond the stars that would
Know why I was crying
That they would take away a few years of my life and give them to you
Because I knew at ten that you would leave me one day
It made me love you deeply
It’s been seventeen summers
You are not dead...but why do I sometimes feel that I was the one that died instead?
I am no longer the boy you once knew
The boy that you never held tightly when I needed you to
The boy that wished so deeply for an embrace
I wish I was the child in one of those hollywood movies
Like every single late night sitcom
And family dramas
The culture I was inhaling was not mine
My colonized mind wanted to badly for you to be like
A mom in one of those white movies
But it never happened…Am I racist?
I gave up on dad a long time ago
The invisible scars of dad’s rattan cane
Still whips my body
I still feel the raised cane marks on my skin
And I remembered touching them after each whipping
I fell in love with them because I survived
I survived each beating and those marks became what I thought I am
I survived each threat that he made to me
I gave up on dad a long time ago
Remember the washing machine in the kitchen?
She was my only friend at home
She protected me from the reins of dad’s cane
She took me by her side and shielded me from the wielding of patriarchy
She reminded me of who I hoped you might be
Not a white mom like in the movies
But one that I had hope would have stood up for me
Like the way the washing machine stood there between me and the cane, frozen,
witnessing the banshee screams of a
Helpless child
Helpless washing machine
Screaming her lungs out every time I was beaten
We both took our beatings
Mom, Seventeen autumns later...
I no longer remember who you are and why I want you to be different
Just as I had chosen to forget about the dad I knew.
I am no longer your dirty laundry
21 December, 2018
The lingering branch of thought
that stirs the waters
as I wade fearfully
into the fullness of roots and thorns
I used to think that I did well to avoid pain.
But I was hooked on the arms of time
And pain is a 7-11 store
That I have frequented since birth
And the signs on the roads
Had been staked into unfamiliar paths
Waiting to welcome
With sordid news that conjures
Violent images and "unintended consequences"
I used to think that I did well to love pain
But I was pinned on the nails of self-impalement
And blood is my late night supper
That I had been feeding myself...
Out of desperation
You see. I am an expert at being lonely
When it comes to hurting
Toughness is the scapegoat
Painted as a unicorn that people
believe can only be seen once in a while
...If you are lucky
I used to think that I did well to be pain
But I was sliced on the table
With angry lights projected at my body
And I saw
Faces I did not recognize
I suspended myself night after night
Upon window grilles and humid air
Sending messages to the stars
Wishing pain away for my protectors
I used to think that I did well to promote my pain
But there were no buyers that were willing to pay
The idling of worthiness
Found in a garbage pile of endless unwanted recycles
I used to think I did well to know pain
Until I discovered they knew me better...
Sometimes
Sometimes I wonder if I am too far gone,
when I feel internalized bondage strangling on my battered body.
Sometimes I wonder if I am too deeply grounded,
for the anchors holding me down were never mine to start with and they want to pull me towards burial.
Sometimes I wonder if I bled enough,
from the injuries pounded onto my body before I could say stop...I'm not a safe word for projections.
Sometimes I wonder if I hurt enough,
when sensations in my solar plexus just want to meet the
fearful coming of startling impacts and rhomboids fighting to be touched.
Coming Out Day
I'm not white
I am mixed race
I'm not male
I am non-binary
I'm not female
I am non-binary
I'm not tall
I am in some places
I'm not good looking
I am sexy
I'm not smart
I am relational
I'm not talented
I am a keen learner
I'm not simple
I am fucking complex
I'm not stable
I am in an unstable world anyways
I'm not rich with money
I am rich with love
I'm lazy
I am working 24/7 with a buddy name Trauma
I'm ugly
ooo...I am...
I'm not grounded
I am a fucking Virgo
I'm not fit enough
I am a body fit for loving
I'm not interesting
I am such a whole soul experience...
if you dare let me...
I'm not beautiful
I am gorgeous
I'm not one with tight abs
I am one with so many other body parts
I'm not worthy
I am not worthy of a miserable fucking life
I'm not shallow
I am an ocean bed of reflections
I'm not doing enough
I am tired
I'm not a subversion
I am an impression
I'm not coming out
I am coming out every moment
I'm not an exotic-fication
I am an essential fixation
I'm not coming out
I'm not coming out
I'm not coming out
I am going in
I am going in
I am going in
I'm not
I am
dedicated to everyone who feels and knows how complex "coming out" means. you and i know its not a singular direction of energy because every time we "come out", we also go in within ourselves to engage with the very painful and vulnerable mirrors that we carry.
coming out is not just an announcement.
coming out is an anchoring
through the craters of our emotional beings
and the daring to burn the livid imaginations of past experiences and inflictions
Coming Out Day … (Again)
emotional wave day
grounding day
hiding in day
reflective day
questioning day
anxiety day
cuddle day
muddle day
muggle day
raging day
grieving day
sleepless day
gentle day
chaotic day
who are my friends day
who is my family day
am i safe day
who do i lose day
who do i get to keep day
who do i get murdered by day
who do i get to sleep with day
why am i why i am day
my parents won't love me day
my parents accept me day
i celebrated me day
i cried like a waterfall day
i remember the times day
i want the day to finish day
my friends are waiting to celebrate me day
i wrote a letter day
i made a video day
i choose my pronouns day
misgendering day
correct gender day
i am queer day
i got disowned day
i collapse day
i found my chosen family day
i love myself day
i look at the mirror for a very long time day
i get a cake day
i get cake thrown at me by queer-phobes day
in the hospital day
i might get assaulted day
i have people who love me d
Maya
Love, so carefully guarded,
like songbirds in cages,
where their truth is clipped from
their wings,
and the music of intimacy is shrouded by fearful
clanging of chains.
Let love not be lost in cages
but be abundant in freedom.
For it is only then can love be
free
to be experienced in all directions;
in all ways
and it shall never be weary.
Let love be the ocean.
Let love be the air.
Let love be the universe.
Let love be infinite.
Let love be free.
Love is never lost.
Love is always present.
Love is freeing.
Love is freedom.
Gender Fuckery
Can we talk about this?
When gender fuckery gets assumed by
gender fucking binaries
in kink scenes
and in negotiations
in making mistakes
and learning to be better
Can we talk about this?
When you think that you are negotiating something
Only to realise that the person you were negotiating with
still do not get your gender non-binariness
but wants to play with you anyways
and then proceeds to treat you as a MAN or WOMAN
because they know not enough
how to play with a non-binary person
Can we talk about this?
The hetero-normative responses and attitudes
The assumptions projected through patriarchy, misogyny
to the curious
to the new
to the never-seen-before
to the never-touched-before
to the person wearing a beard and spotting a pink tutu
to the one that "looks" one way or another
because of a bulge, a cup, a moustache, Adam's fucking apple (not mine)
Can we talk about this?
The fuckery involved in folks wanting
to play with non-binary folks
but refuses to do the work to
understand or ask
and make mistakes
and learn with each other
about gender identities
body experiences
dysphoria
Can we talk about this?
The lack of ownership over one self's responses
and reflection
when wanting to play with someone
who shared that they have trauma
Non-binary folks are traumatised daily
from misgenderings and swallowing the
insensitivity down to the gut
Heartless comments fermenting and rotting
Spreading over sensory neurons and nervous system protections
Simply because someone is willing to play with a non-binary person
only to be let go
afterwards
because destructive behaviours
assumes power to exert exclusion
Can we talk about this?
In a non-binary way?
In a non-traumatising way?
In a way that builds safety?
In a way that builds community?
In a way that encourages non-binary folks
to access kinky play with trust?
In a way that fucks our gender expression in the way we want?
In a way that involves curiousity rather than non-consensuality of identity labels put onto people?
In a way that makes boundaries fun and not jarring?
In a way that makes for conversations that are reciprocal and meaningful rather than deceitful?
Can we talk about this?
Can we talk about this?
Because I can't.
Literary Exhibitionist
I do words
good words
words that make together natural\
words that slice through imaginary labels
ords that make dripping mercury on canned fish
a spacey disgusting pleasurable imagination
all kinds of fucking shit can happen here
but as a literary exhibitionist
I want to strip it all down
because i want to get to the space
and i want to reveal it all
while craving for other souls
to invade this space
and bring tears by the
beauty of all the pain and pleasure that
words can do
words can grow and words can kill
and I want to fuck the wrods up, just so that
I can dominate this imaginary space by subordinating to
the bondage of our literary experience
i speak five fucking languages
and yet, i am as limited as the words i recognize
can you strip me of literary limitation?
and show me a love i can never dare to lock into a phrase?
hold my body the way you would want me to hold your heart?
how much can i bare through my words
what else can i say when i keep feeling that i have nothing to say
but i obviously have a lot to express
this body is longing for full-body love
this soul is craving for the sweetness of pleasure
this heart is savouring the meeting of new relationships
and the energy of expression courses through my being
all at once
i feel the exhilaration
of dancing with my breath
fuck in fuck out
pain in pain out
space in space out
kink in kink never out
and i haven't even got to the body parts
the parts that are brewing right now
through the suggestion
of a memory
going back to the last soul experience that made you
burning through ecstacy
we are there again
scene snap scene snap
words
pictures
comments
comments
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comments comment comment comment
are we playing yet
come play with me
lets do a literary kink scene
fuck with my imagination
let your words cruise on me
make me your word slave
if you can
i want to fuck yours with my words
because words fuck deeper than a nine-inch dildo
my fucking cunt is hot
your breasts are gorgeous
put that dick in my mouth
im dripping wet
my nipples are erect
(in the moonlight)
i run my saliva down your pussy and let it hang for a moment
because in a second i'm serving your labia
inner and outer
upwards and downwards
you cover up your crotch in nervousness and suspension
someone might see you
you want to be seen
i want you to be seen
give it a push
right at your clit
and let ripples carry the numbness you experience on your back
shall i write more
are you a literary exhibitionist
come and share your perverted words with me
and let them drip your essence on my chest
so i may feel them with my heart