As it turns out you people apparently just can’t handle me
Undiluted
Can’t comprehend my sexuality and my
Full-strength no-holds-barred honesty
You can’t reconcile my intellect and my nakedness
My poetry and my sex
Virginity and blowjobs and
All on the first night.
It’s too difficult for you to just take things
As they come
And feel things without classifying them
My simplicity is overwhelming
And in a world of lies and games and gender roles
It doesn’t make sense
I can’t not play by the rules
Because you don’t know how to read me
Even if I tell you how
I can’t want to feel you and then to love you
I can’t want this so soon and be a girl but-not-a-slut
It’s against the rules.
- Mood:
restless
There are so many ways for me to demean this
Write you off with the rest of the list
Copying down your flaws and failings for later use
Keeping them in a notebook beside my bed
But sometimes when your presence crashes over me and swallows me up
a deluge of taste and sound
My concerns are drowned by the smell of your skin
and the heat of your legs curled around mine
The way you touch me is like quick, soft-lipped kisses
Nipping over my jaw and neck
And falling asleep with you is like a white lie for love
That we both know isn't true but pretend to ignore
Like quivering muscles in pain and pleasure
And not drawing distinctions
You soak into me
Like floods of salt water
Drowning everyone who can't
learn to swim.
Okay, it's super rough. But i like parts of it, and it kind of portrayed the feeling i was going for. i actually like deluge in there and threw in flood just for good measure. i'm not wild on the first stanza, but starting the poem with "but when you crash over me" seemed kind of out of nowhere. i know what the but is referring to, but the reader doesn't. and while i know the reader also doesn't understand the white lies comparison, it at least sounds smart and literary. so i had to try and sum up the back story in a stanza and that's the best i could come up with so far. i may go back to it later. which is something i often say about poetry and is usually a lie. I'm not sure if it is this time.
Other words that i need to remember, inspiration-wise, are unknown and wilderness...these in regards to my vampire fairy tale. more on this and why i'm scared to write it later.
- Mood: melancholy
Yeah, I'm leaning towards the latter, possibly because it means I get to have sex sooner.
But really, who can afford to wait around for someone to fall desperately in love with. Who knows when or if that's ever going to happen? I'm not saying people should just slut it up, I just think if you find someone you like, who makes you happy, there's nothing wrong with spending time in a romantic, sexual relationship with them, even if you don't think they're the love of your life.
On that note, things have been going really well in my life lately, and I find I just can't write as well when I'm happy. Don't get me wrong, I'd rather be happy and have writer's block than be miserable and profound. I'm not even crazy happy, I'm just regular calm and contented. Crazy happy can be inspirational, but content just makes you want to...sit in the sun and sigh happily. Which is fine, it's just not very conducive to life-changing poetry. Maybe I should write fiction during these kinds of periods. I'm just afraid to start something, because I feel like nothing could possibly come out as well on paper (or in this case, computer screen) as it does in my mind. And I don't want to write something not great. That's depressing. Short stories would be good, but I think you need a really clear idea for that, and I don't have one. I need the space of a novel or novella at least to wander around and figure out what I'm writing about. Maybe I can start it with no length in mind, and just cut down and shape it to perfection. That sounds good.
Okay, so sex with a great-not-perfect-guy and editing to perfection. Sounds like a good plan. Now I just need to wait a couple weeks to make sure he's not going to bail. Ugh. Being pessimistic is hard work.
- Mood:
content
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