*artwork- via wallpapermaiden.com
biodanza melted everything
into my inability to be while with others
there, (un)disturbed and loud, it exploded
grenade of piercing realizing:
i am so scared to not be able to love
to ever be able to care for someone
more than i care for myself
i’m terrified, that i’ll have to give up so much
for an uncertain promise to obtain.
*artwork- by Silvia Pelissero (a.k.a Agnes-Cecile) via inspirations.cgrecord.net
Anxiety is swift
Is a rabbit hiding in a high grass
Jumping on the path in front of you
Shuffling your thoughts in a second
Is a skillful burglar
That bursts into your walls
Robs you of the ever thinning peace and
Is a ghostly beast, it smiles in your face
While watching you fail.
After being tamed for too long
It wants its freedom
Back and big.
So I have no choice
But to submit and surrender.
I’m letting it feed on plentiful of my fears
Primarily on the one that flickers in my head
In massive neon-red letters:
“Am I able to bring and sustain life?”
*artwork- “viva emptiness” album art for “katatonia” by travis smith
|he was doing things over my computer
i sat besides, listening to
sounds of mouse clicks and worn out keyboard
i said “recently i feel emptied”
and he said “how come?”
so he read to me a poem he wrote
about legless junky whore who listens to Whitney Houston’s old record
i didn’t like it.
so he showed me someone else’s art
a portrait of a naked woman, having her child next to her right breast.
and her lover next to the left one.
we both shivered, slightly embarrassed
with all the taboos that stormed our heads.
and then, boom! i laughed.
for this image envisioned, with the scariest precision, the thought that i woke up with.
i thought of all these man that i make suck on my breasts
the only thing that helps me cum.
i was thinking of all these lips and tongues that touched my nipples.
of all these heads i was pressing so hard
and caressing so gently
of all these long haired boys whose locks were covering my stomach.
are these meaningless acts of lust?
just something that gets me off?
or is it my perverted way to fulfill the motherhood that can never be accomplished any other way?
because a woman who breastfeeds can never feel empty.