Breaking
That Honoria is my strength
Is the why, the how I broke my soul,
And when the mending began
There was debasement of self for sure
But like all things but the breaking of me,
I touched most phases briefly,
Contemplating, understanding, quickly…
Forming
Like no other before me…impossibly
I grew on the words of Dickens and Joyce
I grew without support or input
I grew all my instincts like seeds unique,
The forms that came through anyway,
Breathed in the air, sun-baked in.
Need
I am happy in the now knowing
I stand where I am at and in no other place.
Looking for the knowing of another
“What are you looking for, cher?”
-the other side of me, the similarities,
the…opposites that compliment.
Struggle
I struggle like the deaf girl in me knowing
She heard the word but the pitch is lost,
The nerves were simply weak, gave in.
Some things are just there on the tip of the brain,
Tip of the tounge, the fingertips the smooth back
His hair and trail lightly in the moment…
Cool touch on too hot flesh
And all the thoughts racing lay docile.
Existance.
And being in the moment alive.
