Sola ellipsis

It's dark outside but we can never seem to sleep Knees weak and my legs shiver Inside my thighs is sweet nectar  Your fingertips leave traces of the treasures you seek Down my spine as I inhale you into my lungs You paint a thousand  mosaics with your tongue Your body against mine We hardly take note of the sunshine In your company, the right words I struggle to find A tentative passion ignites inside But I am not yours and your are not mine And when it's time to leave it's all these thoughts I try to hide   Because to lose control is to lose myself in you Best friends or lovers, from that delicate submission I could never recover.

The taste of your skin is reminiscent of the Holy roots of our kin Dark skin your fingertips trace a map of the rich history of where our ancestors have been Dark skin I hold you tight against my belly and my bosom The feel grounds and gathers me under fertile soil so I blossom Dark skin your words are like the intricate anatomy of home Landscapes that spread out as far as the eye can see Dark skin standing beside you is to be honoured as a queen Your love and understanding are a soft pillow that rebels the hardness of how this life has been Dark skin you are reassurance and security The likes of which cannot be compared Dark skin your sadness are the cufflinks that tie your heart to your sleeve Soft and tender I struggle every time you have to leave Dark skin the only doubts have never come from us In your subtitle ways and boundless kindness my tainted heart I entrust Dark skin of your affections the world will never be worthy I daydr...

There is absolutely nothing wrong with having options. In this day and age that has actually almost become the new "norm". What is VERY wrong with this new normal however, is having people feel that they are at liberty to treat you like a disposal commodity just because they are not at a place to understand the different emotional needs of the next person. So to the ladies, I implore you to distance yourself from a situation that requires too much of your energy all in a bid  to be the cool, laid back and understanding option that is so much easier to deal with than someone fathoming that you are an individual who thinks, acts and feels with decisiveness and intent. Yes, I myself have different people who fulfill different needs at any given time but for each of them I practice both empathy and thoughtfulness devout of any semblance of selfish desire to fulfill momentary wants. .

What kind of fish can you sink into the bottom of the ocean with shoes made of cement or lead? What kind of fish is it illegal to tie up, gag and bash in the head? A thousand ways to die my love, but for you I can dream of a million more. Entrail ribbons laced around a pole, a whimper underneath your pillow as you lay on your back. That knot in your neck I could permanently crack.  You seem nervous my love, shall I push you to the cold floor or shall I squeeze and squeeze until to the touch you become colder than snow? Blue fingertips and blue toes A deep freezer is a good place to store my woes Brandish your face with the detailed outline of a butt of a gun, laughter escapes my chest as you struggle to run. Why are you not turning around? One pop Two pops Red roses on the ground Last pop Just so the incessant whimpering will stop You must like make-believe stories my love, because just the other night I tapped your forehead with a hammer. My beautiful unicorn. Singing y...

I am a romantic and I am a writer. I could write a library's worth of love letters about a single glance from a passing stranger. Emotion, vulnerability, brokenness are the only things that truly move me. Some writers question your authenticity when all you create is based on feeling. Feeling low, feeling dejected, feeling hurt. But ask yourself, if your art has always been your therapy before you were brave enough to give voice to your fears and tears then who really is the  better writer? Does it even matter? I've been questioned/doubted for my writing style since I can remember. But if it is MY ART. Whatever it is, how do you doubt the validity of words coming from your chest as opposed to your mind? I'm not trying to sound "smart". I am merely trying to find healing through expressing pain in pages. You might think, "one trick pony". It's cool. I get it. But you can never assume to judge me because all I've ever related to is ...

Do you remember when voices from the past called me to your side Do you remember when both our heartbeats were the toughest to hide Do you remember when you called me a gift because to you time had never been too kind Do you remember when you said my stubbornness was my strength and not a weakness Do you remember the holes we patched over like a seasoned seamstress Do you remember when you touched me and it felt so good I couldn't imagine how I had existed with so much less Do you remember when we got home and all you wanted to see was my body underneath that dress Do you remember when you whispered love and chuckled like you were new to this Do you remember when our eyes met and it was as natural as coming up for a kiss Do you remember when you made me laugh until my belly was sore Do you remember when you promised you wanted to give me all that and more Do you remember when the cancer started to grow Do you remember when we started fighting and we didn't even know...

They smear stains on my truest form Scotched fingerprints on every crevice of my brittle soul They fall like rain over any surface that defines the essence of my being Weak knees quake I don't ever breathe I break Save me Space encloses me in an asylum that houses stray thoughts They haphazardly attach to the cracks in my voice Sinking feeling I am barely living Save me Night terrors await from behind my door They take me everyday and I can't sleep anymore They nurse me against ghosts from the past They whisper "It will always be just you and us" Save me They drive me to drink On the verge of collapse I linger on the brink The weight of the world crushes my shoulders They throw bricks that hit me like boulders The ground seems to open up so I barrow below Time catches up and my heart beats slow Save me They drag at the seams of my clothing They stire the dust waking sleeping dogs that lie I suffocate cries under my pillow The fea...