There is something inside of me I can not reach with all your fancy do-dads and knick knacks for propping up my inflated sense of self importance. Is it true that if you squint long enough the goddess will appear to me between these half scrawled lines and unfinished invitations. Do I care anymore?
My heart longs to be discovered by one who cares to take it out of the cellophane packaging. Discounted meat on a styrofoam tray. Molding to the light under your waiting gaze.
Poetic logic got me this far but then it took off running down the alley like a jack rabbit and left me all muddled and confused with my panties around my ankles.
Do you love me in the morning when I wake with burning questions emblazoned across my eyelids beckoning to me like mirages of past pharaohs and queens yet undeveloped?
Do you love me in the afternoon when the wind has knocked through my crooked teeth reminding me that everything I say is sawdust and drag my fingers bloody down the cauterizing streets filled with bustling poppy shite and dazzling conformity?
Do you love me in the evening when the rage seethes through my hair and sparks up conversation carousing with the steadfast loneliness caged behind my soft stomach falling between the appointed hip bones scolding me to forget what I can not?
Do you love me in the nighttime when the quiet stillness consumes my bones as if to feverishly destroy the unequal balance I have striven to uphold in the event of an unknown sacrifice that would sink my tears like daggers into the snow white lamb of truth?
Do you love me to be me in all my silly ramblings, the ones like these that pour out to comfort me in times of dire unrest, and do you love me when quiet conviction turns into an unsettling roar to shake the rafters and upset the bed posts in melodic direst? Is this all too much for you my dear? do you have the faintest clue what I’m talking about? Because I certainly don’t but I would love to know. I would love to be loved by you, and loved by me which will hopefully feed one and the same undying love and passion that we may both keep warm by.
But if that is not what you want from me then turn forth and be gone I shan’t look again for that small token of affection to keep me through the night. I’m an all or nothing kind of gal and poetic reason is the only one I know. If you can’t love me in my most obscure and ornery then how can I trust you with those precious few docile reprieves.
Feel free to call me foolish and fickle, I will fault you not.
But know that these are my terms and I will be loved on them.
I don’t remember writing this, but I found it on my phone from about a month ago, I like the way it trips off the tongue.