Field Notes ▪︎ Prose (2)

12. Bring back the bang

Im gonna pour myself Out and the thirsty shall drink from my dry mouth and empty cups...my tears cannot be seen or wipped they forever water this soul of indignities their granite salt and flackes of needled disapprovals weaving my lids shuts they are scissors opening my cheeks to drink them angry seas swallow them misfortunate boats up the hill of the wave that crushed upon me saying I can't with a rogue tongue I can't be a dog in the mercy of absence I can't be good with set backs to be touched.
I'm falling to the stars but it can be the next rabbit hole
I'm hoping to smile without feeling bad but you may be faking being yourself
Are you there ? Cause its been so long you said some truth its been so long since you let me out to speak scream screw it like I used to (you know what i mean) And you have no idea of who you are or who you what to be you're just alive and acting fulfilled sexy desired and desiring others_but I hate the guts of people. Everyone is so special and cute and I'm this mess that is not physically deteriorating but is doing so by fading with the mass of fixed numbers and names the void of the human stimulus racing to 'the' gates while am an atheist / wanna be believed for saying I died. Truth said im dead in not searching for a grave this body is one these nails are roots I keep cutting down for not wanting to stick to people and this hair is my washing robe the one who covered my back the one that lifts the rocks in the storm of funerals and this passing girl's face you cheked up in the station got stuck in the vomit of the past and the hang of rewind clocks. I can't anything everything with anyone, I'm not dying and I'm not doing fine, just admit that some things are missing a headstone on their graves its just that.
Men and women are hot hell I'd be a saint if everytime I thought about cripping what between their thighs might feel against my mouth with a prayer from your god. But prayer never satisfied me praying always took my power to have what I always wanted praying is the fest of a mad mad man who went to skies and forgot to ascend forgot he was crop from an uptown river down that sweet house mama worked in the name of being a mother wicked to a law suit. Now fuck God shall we; I've got no knees to bent for no body even in death I'll be stretched till the earth splits from my ratchets and glorious fingers of poetess. I've got Faces buried under this and another under that even more if you read what I write about men and pain, love and heart break, women and torments.
So on the basis I don't know what I am other that an average girls with fundamental trust issues to the worlds its rhythm its combinations of doors to successful math geniuses never for a moment the street for the convoluted the hated the unmissable in the endings.