I continue to walk this long path full of shattered glass and enlarged flames. Allowing the pain to sweep around my toes, ankles, slender calves, thighs, pretty buttocks, hips, large abdomen, wide chest, wide shoulders up and around to the tip of my punctured nose. This pain is like no other and there is no true source yet physiological symptoms are always knocking at the door.

Tears blinded the road as I smoothly accomplished each twist and swerve home. I reflect on the one I suppose could have filled the empty pleasure cove. He stood tall and proud smugly glanced over me. That kind of glance people have when they come across the stench of cows among the countryside. The kind of glance given to CNAs from their medical colleagues. The glance that is the backbone of their false sense of superiority and you amount to nothing. He then walks briskly toward his apartment repeating twice not interested one more glance, one more “not interested”, and slams door shut. He does not forget to lock the many locks on the other side. Confined in his greatness.

Could he have been the one? Or was it the first one I allowed to touch me? Or the one I allowed myself to be vulnerable with? Or was it the one I took on a date who continued to flirt with others in front of me? Or the one constantly monitoring my every mood wanting nothing more than a puppet? Or the one selling dope at the corner only to be left dead shot in the head? Or the one I chased knowing he loved being chased but had little interest in being prized? Or the one night stands from drunken nights? Or the friend I thought I could trust? Or the first “with benefits”? Or the one on the DL wanting no one to know our “little secret”? Or the matches I found on tinder that rarely reply? Or the others I’ve allowed to see me, feel me, smell me and taste me? So many more unanswered questions arise with these few.

I continue to walk this path along the flames. I learned that the path to happiness to finding love one is bound to be burned along the way. The scars left behind are reminders, lessons, and they make us who we are. That’s all for now it’s late and I’m tired.


I want to feel the warmth of his body against mine.

I want to feel the prickly chin gently pressed against my cheek.

I want to be held and cradled like a child nestling with it’s mother.

I want to be adorn like the bold Mona Lisa and her smile.

I want to feel the scraggly hairs enmeshed with mine.

I want to fold in together like playing cards or the pieces of origami.

I want to feel thousand little deaths in one night’s sitting.

I want to feel loved and not revolted with force.

I want him to appreciate every single pink line trailing my skin.

I want us to laugh the gentle kind of laugh that fills one’s body with warm goodness.

I want to lie there on the floor immersed in our wetness in delight.

I want to snuggle up and feel the muscle flex and dance with the flames from the fireplace.

I want to be able to taste and smell the morning breath unchanged.

Right now I sit in this chair typing away. I continue to go unnoticed and unwanted each passing day. I sit in this chair of hope reaching out to the universe called the world wide web. Hoping that somehow there is a connection among the wires or wireless circuits that run our electronic devices. I yearn for that love I do not think I have yet experienced but witnessed so many others obtain. I am reminded of the old woman in class that said she had only 3 great loves in her lifetime. I still have 0 as I reach a quarter of the way through. I sit here silent fighting back tears some days I let them overflow the dam damaged the floodgates opened. That’s what I am doing now leaving myself vulnerable to anyone who happens to read this. I have desires for hot, passionate, and sensual love or is it lust. The one thing I struggle beating down is the feeling of loneliness. Loneliness is like those damn air balloon things we used to hit as a kid and was held down by sand. Those toys just popped back up no matter how many times you bopped it.

As I lay my head against my cold blue shoulder,
I see the shivers,
I hear the tears.

Stiff as a board,
my out of body experience whispers
a deafening blow,
The wind breezes past the drum.

The worst part of it all,
is the tik tik tik,
the pat pat pat,
of a swollen heart ready
to burst.

A flowing river longer
than Miss Issipp I’s
strands of hair so translucent.
My tears are no match.