fierce battle

miss thin skin
commits sinister
sins,
once again.

hate
and
hate
and

Hate:
capital H.

irate,
and going
straight
to hell.
I'm under this
spell that won't
mitigate
itself.

I've let them
win,
they've gotten
in
and spoiled me
soiled me
toiled with me
and I can feel
the
boiling
heat
and self

defeat.

I want to split
skin seams
and scrub some
spring cleaning.
re arrange
the strange
and strain
sad stuff.
patch it up
with thicker thread,
tougher tread,
and a clear head.

and in the end
I'll have a new spin,
miss thick skin
won't be so sick

you shouldn't have

flowers from my
father
ravishing red
roses protest
love with
I'm sorry yellow
swirling center.
ketchup and mustard
barely belong
vase mates
with lilting lilies
singing lively
while my roses dry,
dying.
I seep sorrow
for somber
flowers.

and we
reside side by side,
though you,too, let go
and died

now there are no
flowers
silky tower
bouquets okay
for me to watch
dry up
like us.

you're still my mother

there was never lace
or black ruffles
soft chiffon
see through,
bows
or peek-a-boo.

underwear,
worn white,
was kept from
sight.
your jockey briefs
covered butt cheeks
briefly before
buttons and zippers
zipped
up tight.

scalloped seams
now beam
unseemly,
and now you wear
red to bed.
your crumpled
undergarments garnish
glaring garnet,
sex panties
peek promiscuous
from your suitcase
next
to your toothbrush
and pink blush.

and I've listened
too much
to your hushes
and whispers;
secrets with
misters
and now
I am missing
my good night
kisser.

please
come back to
your old,
white
underwear.

not better or worse, just different

is what they tell you
when you compare.

but sometimes
same
seems so much easier.
especially since
I never asked
for this.

her eyes
and his hair,
and these are theirs
and I don't want
to be a dandelion
in a bed of roses.

the roses who
are beautiful
and have thorns

and I am defenseless.

no one ever wants a
bouquet of dandelions

you'll hardly notice when I don't come back

I saw this
a bicycle,
and thought

take me with you.

It was beautiful:
wide silver handlebars capped
with camel brown
rubber,
its body
wrapped in pink
chrysanthemums;
a garden that soared
between
spinning circles.
A slender escape,
It was grace on wheels,

and I wanted it.
I want a sweet release
on this floral chariot,
a wish granted
warm wind blown
crown of locks
unlocking me
and I somersault
in the breeze's kiss.

I will pedal
a pattern swift,
sailing.
grateful
in this
gift,
your garden
of bliss.
and
my no ones
will feel less
lonesome
when I
live
in this
sphere
where
happiness seems
more possible
than here.

going down

I remember elevators
with you.

remember
elevator?

elevate her.

tension swells
pulls

I.
doors slide shut.

II.
hands slide
down.

III.
as you
lift
my skirt

IV.
have
a
quick
lick

V.
satin
sighs
between
wet
thighs

VI.
I look
down
and
we
are
all eyes

VII.
you
travel
through
me
hot
like
blood

VIII.
and I
quicken
for
you,
at
you,
near
you,

IX.
hear
me
sharp
breathe
hot
heave
you
plus
me

X.
marks the spot,
hit
the spot
this
is
the spot
and we got off
on
the last
stop.

everyone

Giveand
Giveand
Give
and
Could I
Would I


Should I?

I'd do anything for
shuteye
A goodbye
A
don’t ask why.
And no
afternoon
cries.

Let me be
more tv.
alone
what a treat

And
I won’t smile
no laughs for miles;
my new
style
adopted through
trial...
no errors
I've become
this
terror.

and no
more
thank yous
galore.
I'm sick of polite
this dishonest
plight
and if I’ve scarred
you
for life
I don’t care
a slight.

I hope you’ve felt
this
burn.
Its taken a turn
so much worse
and when you’re
hurt
(which I hope you were)
I’ll peel at your wounds
scars and scabs
stitches
and bitches
and point till
they laugh.

Finally,
you,
just go away.
It doesn’t
matter how
now.
So I can bask
in this emotional
drought.