Woman

I am afraid of
Not being loved
Never having been loved
Of loving like a fool
Realising that maybe, I don’t love someone who loves me
Or that I am incapable just as the lords of psychology say
Which makes me terrible like the one who took it from me
Empathy for the sinner
But I am starting to love myself so much more than this
I can no longer settle for anything less that what I deserve
What I want
Even though he loves me
And this will be my ruin
Love! Love! Love! Love! Love! Love! Love!
Once behind me no longer written down and I am lost
I am afraid of my sexuality because it makes me dirty because I was exposed to young by the Big Bad Wolf, The Berenstain Bears, Rumpelstiltskin and The Meanest Squirrel I Ever Met.
I want to seduce every woman who looks at me and break her down to tears and vomit.
And I want him to need me need me need me need me
So that I can tell him that he is needy
I want to travel and have many lovers
But I am an evil woman
But I am faithful always
I make myself a slave so that I might struggle
I want to be right
I am always right
Why am I drawn to women
Why do I need men
Why do I need love
I am a gypsy soul but I am damaged
Because I am trapped because I am possessive
Because I need a mommy and a daddy
Because I am young and loathsome and decrepit
Because once I was full of promise
The fever is killing me now
A beautiful mind tar and feathered
I am an old soul because I was taken young.
I am at war and I am the enemy
I am the pig
I am blasphemy
I Am. I Am. I Am.

loqui:

in electric
sparks of a drunken
city night flash back
where four eyes saw no
clearer no cleaner
no keener
than the filth
of an alleyway
strapless
harness
a come-to under sirens

I always wanted
my name in lights

I never reblog…. But look here! He’s bloody brilliant!

There is a beautiful dress in the window on Duugan Lane

If I could

I’d buy the white one in the window 

And wear it with girlish impish innocence. 

Not quite angelic but always clean.
Ironed and hung at bed time.

I’d grow older with it.
The cotton becoming softer and thinner, tightening around my bosom and hips
 shifting the cloth to and fro with them while they and my gaze fight for attention.

I’d allow one sleeve slip just off my shoulder as I laughed and flirted with potential suitors

Lifting the skirt around my knees to dance with them

Spinning ‘round to meet those who tugged on the train…

I’d let the bottom tint a bit darker from sitting with my favourite 
Whichever he or she might be at the time.

Perhaps it would dry me after an impromptu swim with one
And I would stain it with grass. 

Oh how I would stain it with wine!
With lipstick with coffee in time…

I would stain it and it would be mine all mine!

I would tear it off to fall upon whatever bed I desired!

I’d lift it for hands and lips and whatever other things I chose!

But.

I cannot have this dress

He burned a red dress onto me.

His name stained onto my mouth like sinister lipstick whenever I indulge in a romantic red wine
But I like the white one in the window

Papa! I wanted the white dress in the window!