Jan 142013

When I was young, I thought dogs were boys and cats were girls.

I thought that if I wasn’t at church on Sunday morning to sing with the Little Lambs Choir, then they wouldn’t sing without me.

I disliked mayonnaise, so I told people I was allergic.

I figured that since most people are allergic to two things, I’d need to choose another.

I picked turtles.

I refused to wear my hair in a ponytail because no one could center it perfectly in the back of my head. So it grew in long, big, black curls. I’m from Alabama. My Father used to say that he could tell where I’d been playing outside by what was in my hair.

My Mother told me that my dog went away on a ship.

I killed a snake when I was in Kindergarten – on our playground.

I used to pretend that I worked at McDonalds.

As a flower girl, I ruined my cousin’s wedding by trying to wake my sleeping brother the entire time. We’ve never been close.

Wicked Wednesday... be inspired & share...

Jan 132013

I was digging around for matches. Perfect matches. We don’t match. I’ve seen more glimmers from you than I would have ever expected. Glimmers of what’s in a match. More glimmers than I’ve lived for lately.

They are quiet. They are few. They are sincere. I surrender easily to glimmers. Even if we don’t match.

Jan 122013

You hugged me when we met. Instinctively, I went with it, but I should have just offered you my hand when you moved in. You were in my space, too much. The second time, a kiss on the cheek. It was quicker than the time it took for me to process it.

A message: I want to fuck you so bad.

I don’t want to fuck you.

I don’t even know what to do with you.

He saves you a chair beside his. His arm is easy around yours the whole night.

He asks you.

No thank you.

He asks you.

No thanks – Really

He asks you.


Aren’t you a submissive?

I’m not your anything.

Jan 082013

She smelled like cum and naivete. If you turned your head just right you’d catch an easy mingling of her perfume and sweat.

Unforeseen wet spots marked battles won and lost across her sheets. She wasn’t ready to get up, but couldn’t find comfort in a place that was so freshly marked.

The wet spots would wash away. The cum would rinse down the drain.

Just don’t forget my name.

Jan 072013

I don’t have a call. I don’t have a sign. There is not a moonlight reminder. Monsters come when they come. And you know this is more then you can take.

Still – His scent can’t be ignored. Tiptoe if you don’t want them to notice. ‘Cause they know. You always want what you’re running from. They love they way you cry. They love the way you want to. For them.

If you wander across a Monster, and you decide to dance, then a little cut will turn his head. A Monster loves his prey. He will eat you. He will break you. He will take you. Apart. Do you love it? Do you want it? Do you need it? Does  it make it impossible to tiptoe?

Sultry Saturday

Jan 012013

You are my bruise.

I manipulate my body, searching for you. Searching for any slight bit of discoloration. I press – hoping for an ache in any darkened spots. I don’t turn those lovely shades of purple or green. There’s no healing. They are just gone. They seem to wash away with water or a night’s rest.

You are my bruise. Gone as I open my mouth, shocking me into a pause from which my words come to an astoundingly confused halt. Leaving only a confused sigh slowing exhaling in place of the words that were going to slip from my lips.

You are my bruise.

I’m sure that you were there, but  I don’t see where.