Tag Archives: feelings

Kindling


In the beginning,

you thought you knew

what love was.

We felt it;

that scorching, all-consuming excitement.

The thing that makes you think,

“This person is my everything.”

We were fools.

It was love, yes-

in it’s birthing stage.

Messy. Squalling. Ignorant.

I know that now.

If it had been stable love,

we would never have said

all those terrible things

we said to each other;

we would never have

treated each other so unspeakably.

 

There were times,

a good while later,

when you were not my favorite person.

In fact, I despised you.

I know.

I ask myself the same question:

“How can you loathe someone you love?”

Beats me.

But you can.

You felt the same at times.

I could see it when you wouldn’t look at me.

It didn’t feel like love anymore,

and we both doubted.

But then,

within  the smoldering pile of ashes

left from our rabid inferno,

a single spark, a memory,

left us clinging to each other

in the midst of our woeful rhapsody.

 

The hurts healed,

slowly.

Sometimes painfully.

The ugly scars were made beautiful

because we knew the agony

of the recovery.

You  didn’t look at me

the way you once did,

back in the infancy of Us.

I missed that,

but I was comforted

in the knowing that we chose Us.

That flame seemed cooler

than it once had been,

but more steady.

Instead of self-preservation,

we learned to

give ourselves away to one another.

We never even noticed

when our Selves melted into one.

I guess the blaze was hotter than we thought.

 

Now,

we are both wiser.

Love, you say?

I laugh.

We’ve barely scratched the surface

 

 

 

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Filed under Family, Life, Love, Poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Mr. Fix- It


Before.

Greg observed his own face in his bathroom mirror, and squinted his eyes in a furious glare at the reflection. He gripped either side of the pedestal sink to keep from putting his fist through the glass, and watched his own jaw clench and unclench. He was a fucking coward, and the fact made him completely livid. He pushed himself away from the sink in disgust and flipped the light switch too forcefully on his way out of the room.

Casey had just left, and Greg’s pulse was still pounding with the left-over desire she’d dumped on him. Just the remembrance of her on her knees in front of him in his own kitchen brought another surge of lust through his body, and he flopped down angrily on his worn-out couch. His longing was interrupted by a wince of pain when he felt the springs dig into his back, and he cursed inwardly.

He tried to collect his thoughts, but the feelings left over from Casey’s visit made his brain a chaotic jumble. He took a deep breath and adjusted his crotch, forbidding his dick to erect itself at every thought of her.

Since he’d fucked her in her apartment, he and Casey had made love on several other occasions. Greg snorted at the thought. “Made love” was not what it had been at all; more like, animalistic, savage, licentious fucking. It didn’t matter that Casey looked like a completely innocent, albeit sexy-as-hell school teacher- the feelings she evoked from Greg were baser than anything he’d ever felt. When he wasn’t fucking her, he wanted to be, and when he was, it was like he’d scored a handful of X at a rave; every time was like the height of his existence, but the after effects made him feel like complete shit.

He ran his hands down the sides of his face and let out a exasperated breath. She didn’t want anything else from him. The idea was like a shot to the chest with an electric jolt. He knew it was completely ridiculous that she would want anything serious from him, given the huge gap in their ages, but he just wanted to get to know her. He knew exactly what her excited cunt felt like to his fingers, and he knew how glorious it felt to have her near-perfect lips wrapped around his cock, but he knew next to nothing about her, and it bugged the shit out of him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to find out, but she kept her distance, and even after she’d come quivering to orgasm, she maintained her independent attitude.

Greg’s anger was at himself, for not forcing her to open up, or at least for not being able to control his incredible lust enough to turn her down. Casey was clearly emotionally damaged; he’d never met a woman who was able to separated sex from feelings, but she did exactly that. He knew that continuing their liaisons  as they was not the way to heal that damage- he felt proud of himself that, as a man, even he knew that. He was also aware of the fact that Casey perhaps was not looking for someone to take care of her hurts, but Greg couldn’t help it. He wanted to. Her beautiful face and her buoyant persona made him want to fix it. The problem was, with her luscious tits and gorgeous ass, he kept forgetting that.

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It Is You


 

It is no one else  I see

except you

when I feel you stir inside me.

Your heated breath on my neck

sends shivers down my spine

and the placement of your palm

on my hip

ignites the fire deep within.

Because you know that,

to me,

sex is just sex,

The way your hand

gently guides my face

to look at you

as you ease yourself into me

again and again

endears you to me,

and I love you just a little bit more

as I gaze into your eyes

and watch you come.

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Things That Make Me Angry


It makes me angry when people are out for a Sunday drive on Tuesday. I got fuckin’ places to be and I don’t be having the time to be poking along at 35 mph.

It makes me angry when stores that shall not be named here (except for that their names rhyme will Narget and Walfart) have 47 lanes to cash people out at, yet they only have 2 open.

It makes me angry when my stretchy jeans that hug my ass in just the right way also hug my front butt enough to give me camel toe.

It makes me angry when people in places of higher power than I insist on “coaching” me, even though they are only at my place of employ one day a week.

It makes me REALLY angry when I am horny and my Rockstar insists on going to bed without assisting me in the making of me being not horny.

It makes me angry when Minnesota Revenue continues to steal moneys out of my checking account at various intervals without asking. As if my $82.73 is going to heal the national debt.

It makes me angry when my Rockstar’s Daughter insists on saying, ” Our house is OUR house, not yours.” Even though she’s been repestedly told to desist.

It makes me angry when the disastrous mess of curly pubic hair that resides on my head refuses to listen to my Big Sexy Hairspray.

It makes me angry when I have to go to work when I’m in the middle of deciding whether Fifty Shades of Grey is worth reading.

It makes me angry when I answer the phone at work to take a delivery and when asked what their address is, the person on the line says- “Ummm, well I don’t know the EXACT address.”

It makes me angry when I try on shirts that are SUPPOSED to be my size, and then must call for a dressing room attendant to come and assist in the removal of said shirts when they get stuck going over my excessive boobage.

It makes me angry when no matter how often I clean the kitchen floor, there is always crud lurking.

It makes me angry that Carrie Underwood is considered a country music star.

It makes me REALLY angry that Taylor Swift is considered ANY kind of music star.

Most of all, it makes me angry that despite my numerous attempts to contact him, Chris Meloni still hasn’t shown up to receive his booby squish.

 

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