My brain is broken.
I can’t write,
I can’t read,
I can’t fuck.
My mind is filled with many thoughts,
Some useless and many horrifying.
Is this the death of my creative mind?
Is this the death of my erotic nature?
Oh, how I wish
I could cut open my head,
Pull out my brain,
And squeeze the content onto the white pages.
I need to feed my desire,
I need to feed my readers,
I need to feed my obsession.
Wake me up from this wicked dream with a kiss.
Grab me,
And drag me
To the other side of the bed.
Fuck me until I’m weak,
Love me until I’m sick.
Cover me in soft, fresh linens
And bring me breakfast in bed.
My body is yours to pull and twist.
Give me a child so I can end this everlasting nightmare
and create peace within me.
My darling, I am your rag doll
And I’d do anything to please you.
I am unforgettable.
I am one of one.
When you leave me,
You will always look for me.
You will look into their eyes
And try to pull together fragments of me.
Fragments of my love,
Fragments of my voice,
Fragments of my heart.
But all you will find
Is the empty void I have left you with.
And I hope that ruins you.
Whoever is there above,
Whoever thought of me,
Created me,
And produced me,
I want to give my thanks.
Thank you for my kindness.
My heart is full of love and I am always willing to give it out.
Thank you for my mind.
It produces powerful thoughts and emotions and wholesome poetry.
Thank you for my libido.
It drives me and my partners insane, but it is what builds and drives my passion.
Thank you for my impulsivity.
I have made great memories, great opportunities and great changes due to it.
Lastly,
Thank you for my otherness.
I am a being of another world,
I am a being destined to cause harm or peace.
I am a product of you, higher being.
I am a woman who loves erotic horror,
Who enjoys seeing blood drip off of a curved body.
I am a woman who loves soft material,
Who prefers cashmere wool over silk fiber.
I am a woman who loves nature,
Who dries her dying flowers so a way to return it back to Earth.
I am a being who enjoys and embraces horror,
Who believes terror is ethereal.
I am a being who loves her own suffering,
Who cries and screams for enjoyment.
I am a being who doesn’t experience real emotions,
Who can easily love someone one minute and hate them the next.
I am something otherworldly,
Something that isn’t quite right.
I am something unnatural,
Something that can predict the future or reveal the truth through dreams.
I am something prodigious,
Something that is capable of creating authentic beauty
And something that is capable of creating pure savagery.
I love love.
Love is a key aspect of my horrific being.
I grew up learning my unlimited amount of love should be saved.
It is a sacred gift.
However,
The unlimited amount of stored love can become overwhelming.
It leads to my common feelings of loneliness and hopelessness.
So,
I just give it out.
I give it out romantically by sharing heartfelt kisses with my lovers.
I give it out platonically by listening, admiring and cheering those I allow close.
I give it out internally by listening to my spirit and mind the first time.
I give it out exteriorly by showing kindness and love to the things around me,
Whether I want to or not.
Don’t be fooled,
I am still a deeply disturbed woman,
But my kindness and love is a powerful, maternal force within me.
The world is still a cruel, heartless place,
But love and the possibility of love makes it worth living.
I don’t remember much from my childhood,
I don’t even know what my first memories were.
But I remember small things.
Like the movement of my momma’s hands while she cooks.
Like the paper airplanes my father made.
Like the vanilla wafer and cheese snacks my parents gave me.
Like the moment my father taught me how to snap my fingers and the moment he taught me how to whistle.
Like the phrase, “It has to be perfect.”
Like the taste of leftover cake mix on an empty bowl.
Like the feeling of fresh grass and concrete on my toes.
Like the nights sleeping in my momma’s bed when father would get off late.
Like the feeling of scrapping my knees on the neighbor’s steps.
I remember big things too.
Like the punishments my parents and relatives would give me.
Like the fantasies about running away from my family and never seeing them again.
Like the envy I had for my momma’s effortless beauty.
Like the cruel, cruel treatment of other students.
Like the early, unwanted sexual experiences before the age of nine.
Like the feeling of a blade against my thighs skin.
Like the pain of fresh cuts against jeans.
Like the first day I started taking medicine.
Like the nights where I would talk, cry, and beg to the moon because it was my own comfort and the only thing that would listen.
My childhood is a blur and I wish I could remember it,
But, I guess, it is a good thing that I don’t.
The moment my dad told me he didn’t love me
Wasn’t very shocking.
It was disturbing,
But also confirming.
Days before this happened,
I already had thoughts about how my dad didn’t love me or show me much affection and attention as a child.
He didn’t show up to any of my concerts,
He always backed out of taking me somewhere,
And he even showed up after my high school graduation.
It was bad to the point my teachers thought my mom was a single mom.
There were good moments and memories,
But he still wasn’t really there.
The moment my dad told me he didn’t love me
I couldn’t focus on his comments for too long.
I had to clean up my apartment,
Take care of my kittens,
Prepare dinner,
And go to work.
“That’s what grown people do.”
Mind you,
I’m not even in my twenties.
My dad prioritized his job before he would prioritize his wife and daughter.
My dad would make sexist remarks and told me I would never marry because I’m not submissive.
Mind you,
I am very submissive and motherly to the men I am dealing with.
But I am not going to be submissive to my dad.
My dad never saw me as his equal
Or his daughter.
So the moment my dad told me he didn’t love me
Was an weird moment,
But comforting.
Today, I decided to try making sugar cookies.
I’ve never made them before,
But I was craving the taste.
The first bite felt surreal.
I felt like I was in a dream,
A familiar dream.
The second bite felt refreshing.
I was transported back to that familiar dream,
With my beautiful husband and my sweet baby.
The third bite felt loving.
My husband’s lips were on my neck
While my devilish baby played with strands of my hair.
The fourth bite felt orgasmic.
My husband’s hunger and my baby’s beauty overwhelmed me.
I felt whole again.
The final bite felt mournful
I knew I would have to say goodbye,
So I gave my husband and my baby a heartfelt kiss.
As the sweet treat fades from my deprived tongue,
I realize I am
Once again
Alone.
And it was once again,
A near dream of a distant reality.
My heart is too delicate and full to be abused.
It is a soft child, new to the harshness of this disgusting world.
She’s still innocent.
I can’t stop her from loving and caring for useless men
Who can’t see her worth and potential.
Who don’t appreciate the pureness of her love.
But,
She can’t help it.
She thrives and continues to seek the man she will love
And marry until her last breath.
But,
My heart still ponders a simple question.
What’s the point of giving my all,
my bottomless being,
to a man who would only give me half?
The Paramour 