At night,
I touch myself.
(No, not like that.)
I touch myself all over
to know that I am still there.
It's strange.
My mind takes me elsewhere,
yet my body is still here.

touch.

touch me like you're a snake.
wrap your velvet fingers across my velcro exterior,
then puncture my interior with your deadly lust.

touch me like you're a dog.
place your paw inside mine
and lick the sorrow off of my face.

touch me like a cat.
nudge your face against mine,
and when i stroke your exotic fur,
i want to hear you purr.

touch me like a tiger.
bombard me with your hate
and attack me with all of your pain.

touch me like a shark.
eye me from across the sea,
and when i least expect it,
you will sweep me off of my feet.

and touch me like a human.
you can have all of me
as long as i can have your heart.

words hurt.
have you ever been stabbed by an adjective
or ripped up inside by a verb?
how about those adverbs that modify
the emptiness we all feel inside?

words are a living creature.
lurking over the enjambment of the letters,
terrorizing those who hear them.
and yet;
we still use them.
pushing us over the edge
as they're muttered by those who
are not worthy of their power.
of their
grace.

but nouns hurt the worst.
razor blades and lemon juice
are like an ant to a human
compared to nouns.
and the only way we can combat
these fierce enemies
is to not listen.
but how can i cover my ears from
something i adore?

and how can i cover my ears
to protect myself from words when
i need them?
i need them more than Tina needed Ike
more than Lindsay Lohan needs coke
more than Beyonce needs Jay
more than Lucifer needs God to stay alive.
And how can I shield myself from words
when all I want to do
is hear the phrase
"everything is going to be okay."

Let's go on a trip.
Maybe we could see the world together?
And when I see you face,
I cry because I know I am not worthy of
your ethereal beauty; and then your smell.
Oh, your smell.
It's like a collision of the sun and the moon
produced 100 red roses, radiating a smell so pungent
that even the Lord Almighty is intimidated to inhale.
Love.

Incensed by your beauty.
Enraged by your body.
Inflamed by the way you make me feel.
Valuable.
As a the smoke of the train encapsulates my body,
and takes away my breath,
your voice is the only thing I think about.
You ingrain hope into this slender body
and give me the will to go on.

I'm so sorry I love you so much.
I'm so sorry I feel this way about you.
I'm so sorry that I worship you in secret;
You mustn't know how I feel.
And as I type these words into the computer,
and your life continues to go on,
Just take this advice;
Don't ever change what God has given you.
He has blessed your body with innumerable  sinusoidal curves
that gently compliment that warm, tear-induced smile.
He's blessed you with those thighs,
Lawd! (Oh how I want to integrate those thighs.)
But you're more than that.
No *** object of my amusement,
but a Goddess that is worth constant praise
and a Goddess who must not know how
I really feel.

paper hurts the same
way life hurts:
strip all of the dense air away
as the margins of our memories collide
with the graphite of our instrument of pain.
words.
shelter us with your actions
and as the mind wants to get foggy
so do the memories of that everlasting change.
thoughts are nothing but the imagination,
uncontrollable because let's be real:
reality *****.
and as the words begin to flow
so do those thoughts.
they appear.
it rumbles my consciousness and
stirs those repressed feelings.
the unspeakable.
the hatred.
the sorrow.
the love.
and I just lament my feelings into the paper
because I know the pencil won't hurt me.
and i keep on writing and writing and writing
till the rush of death sweeps over me
and Lord knows
I just want it to end.
So I write.
I write some more.
And as my hand because just as numb as my
heart,
I know it's over.