confess

Frustration drove me to speaking truth.
I hid it with flowers
And the cover of night
(oh shame)
Only to end up with tears
And
Grrrrr...

Frustration
Is a funny thing
And satisfaction
Funnier
Cruel.

Time had made it possible
For my fingers to play with no guilt
For my mind to wander with no limits
For my head to be filled with voices of men with no faces
As they ask or demand or plead or command
For my body to writhe without shame
For my soul to yearn, for my voice to fly
In night and day's air
As moans and whimpers.

Internet -
What a gift.

Times, new and old
Legs part like the Red Sea
A different wetness to see
A different rod to yield power
A different land to fight for
Or surrender.

The moon is too far -
The sun is too far -
For anyone to see me
But in these moments I feel exposed
To myself and who I wish to see
And the higher I get
The more I spin wildly
Hold on desperately to tainted sheets
Only to fall, come down fucked and empty
Like my own heart could be.

Alone.
 
This silly
Tale of woe of a Virgin "Whore"
Not complete nor it ever will be
My truth comes out after nausea
Chewed and then thrown up
After the hell it boiled up inside
I may be bare
As I cover myself from the world
But I pull up my sheets
As soon as the cold reality enters
To finally mock me

Frustration
Of me
Of the world
Of my heart
My soul
My body
My suicidal hypersexual insecure teenage bipolar brain -
Ha!
l might never fall in love,
I might die a virgin.