Hungry

I want you
want.
you.
in the
worst
possible way.

I want to slurp
suck
lick
those s l i c k
fingers;
whorled pads;
infinity.
I want to
trace
taste
your body:
from the sharp,
dangerous
edge of your toes
to the passionred
tip
of your tongue.

I want to swallow,
follow,
you inside me.
s l o w l y
I will tingle
in my fingers
and thighs.
Our bodies will mingle
soft sighs
inside
me
I
am
inside
you.

We thrash
lash.
r o l l
myhips
r o l l
myeyes.

Heaves
relief.
Knowing glances.
Afternoon snack.

act 3

i want to believe you,
i do.
i know you wouldn't lie.
i don't think

But to me, it is. They all are.
lies

And i want to believe myself:
i love me

(no i don't.)

i look away because we are dishonest. One of us is faking, and i'm just so tired.

i've never been a good liar so I learned to apologize,
just not to myself.

So i say
Thank You
with a hollow grin and sad eyes.

(no, not really).

and maybe i can convince you

I can't have it

My friend is beautiful, and sometimes I hate her.

not really

She is the pretty one. She is always the pretty one.
When she walks in the room, people stare: she is every fairy tale. a freckled goldie locks. Tall with white teeth. She is the swan. She is Cindarella and Sleeping Beauty.

She is beauty, and I, the Beast.

I want to be the pretty one,
Just once.

I want to throw out all my lipstick and stilettos, burn my pantyhose and ditch painted toes. I'm tired of trying so hard when it could be so easy.

She will never understand her power, not really. She has always been the pretty one.

And maybe I'm smart. And maybe I'm funny.

But she is beautiful

And it is so unfair
it is so
unfair.

3rd place

I want to be the best at something, a definitive example for everyone else.

I want my name laser-cut in gold and plastered on an oak block to be hung in a long marble hallway.

The Best

I imagine glittering metallic trophy shelves. Statues arranged in perfect rows, frozen in time; forever a testament to perfection.
Maybe I'd name them. Say hello and wish them goodnight.

"we love you," they'd say, "tell us a story, please?"


It's not me though, really. That perfection stuff is so glossy.
It's the neighbors' lawn.
A Martha Stewart Pie.

My shelves are filled with books. novels and reference. How to's and why do's.
My shelves are filled with honorable mentions and thanks for participatings.

They are full, and yet, not so much.

i'll say it if i want

HATE

just rolls off the tongue.

HHAATTEE

I'd eat it for breakfast and breathe fire all day. I'd feel the satisfying burn until dusk.

yum, delicious.

then I'd burp a red ring of smoke that will linger like fog
confident,
unscathed by good intentions.

i love you, hate.
my hate.

love letter

Dearest father,

I hate you. I've hated you since I was fourteen, and now you should know.

I've fantasized about your demise, smiling inside. Sometimes I've thought of doing it myself. Something brutal. Something slow. I want to watch your regret. And I'd watch you try to be sorry.

But you never are. Never.
And you have no regrets, selfish man.

What do you care about? You've memorized the tv guide. Your computers always on. You have tons of shit. Useless shit.

You have two kids. You have a wife.

And you are useless.

Where is your love? What is your love?

I dreamt about it once, what it could be. Maybe you'd come home with my favorite mexican food and ask to have dinner with me. Maybe you'd wish me goodnight. Maybe you'd say you're proud. You love me. You want me. I'm beautiful, and you're so grateful.

Maybe you'd even care about something, anything, other than yourself.

But I awake everyday to the devastating reality of you. Your lazy saunter. Your permanent scowl. The unmitigated disappointment you've caused me.

You stay here; I must go now. I will not turn back.

I'm not sorry.

But neither are you, I think.

most successful recipe

I feel the slow, hot burn of unremitting rage.

I am a furnace of anger; I slow cook my insides on high heat until they roast.

Boil.

Then ignite.

I am enveloped in the agonizing pincushion of hate. and it's for you. Please accept my offering, darling.
I've wrapped it in red. Mad red. I hope you don't mind? It's all I have. And it's for you.

You go ahead and take it. Suffer with it. Suffer with me.
Hate me back.
Do it.
I DARE you.

And then you will cook. You will Sizzle and prickle. I hope you are pan-fried alive from the inside.

Do you feel it yet?