Dependency

The sensation you make me feel when i pull hard on the inhale takes my mind away

Thoughts stray and i’m chipper you say but only when under your trance

With the burning bush, I push through, but you see a difference in me when you distance yourself from me

I’ve noticed that you steal my appetite when I’m not with you

Making it hard for me to eat and i can admit defeat, but why must i need you in me to feel complete

Is there something suffocating in the dense smoke that i toke?

I can’t believe that I’d be the one claiming dependency to thee

Or am i just too afraid to face the devil that stares at me in the mirror?

A grand daddy purple band-aid is what i place over the scars that are keeping me awake

Indica indications notify me when i need to choke the pain

The sativa smiles i give are just a facade

Because reality is, i feel like i’m living through life like a fraud.

Am i really as “high” and mighty as you make me feel? I’m starting to question if i really need you

Advertisement

Tethered

Time flies by and i feel like i’m floating

when i’m tethered to this queen that keeps my heart moaning.

I didn’t think that i’d be smitten again

and acting romantically,

but believe in me when i say

that this sensation is extraordinary.

The doubts i once had in the past are now laughed at

for their insecure innocence

and dismissed for light has been shed on it’s surface.

A clean slate to make,

create and let our minds escape.

Two hearts thumping like one and

two minds working together

take over the world and collect paper.

LOVE

A flame in my heart is burning through my chest

and my stomach churns from the butterflies fluttering within.

The dark smut that was in my sights

has been wiped and my mind is clean,

precise and pristine.

I’m in love with life.

I’m in love with myself and

most importantly i’m starting to love everyone else.

No longer am i turning sour from the unknown variables that surround.

Because my heart and mind are now aligned.

Time to go out there and take whats mine.

Insatiable

It’s obscene for some to see

how I bend over on my hands, knees

and crawl around like a fiend

to tear away all the negativity that’s been flourishing within this being.

It’s a sure sight to see how I shake the fright

of the lack of light burning in the scope of the window of my soul.

Or is it another gleem

thats trying to shine within me?

Because the beacon that’s flashing my weaknesses

fades and reinstates itself on the plains

like a lighthouse shining the way

to lost boats off the coast.

I boast to know what it means to be hurt,

but did i learn?

Are my victories part of the lesson i passed with ease?

Are the faults that constantly haunt the reason i don’t let myself fall?

I just wanna rise.

Is that such a crime?

Choppy Water

The tide is high, the current is rough

and I’m holding on with everything I got.

The streets are flooded with a sea of face-covered humans

and a mist of picket-signs and clenched fists floats over it.

This journey through life has gotten a lot more difficult

and everyone is out rioting against a cult that was placed to “patrol” us.

Tidal waves of emotions clash against their barricades and

a hurricane of fallen bredrin’s names keeps us awake.

This system has been made to protect the folks who deal the bread we all ingest.

So lay rest to the idea that the police are out to serve our community.

Ominous sensations of ambiguity is all i see oozing through the streets

where we all used to roam “freely.”

Will we have the maturity to see past our differences?

Are we capable of living in unity?

Because the current circumstances

are only making me feel

like we’re divided.

Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.

[inspired by true events]

I’m confined, vanished in mind and already lost the sense of time. I don’t know what day it is anymore because the diurnal routine is flavourless during quarantine. I roam within the two floors and four walls of my abode. Looking out my window I see that the trees aren’t casting a perpendicular shadow. “Sun must be head high,” I say in an unspectacular sigh and woo for another COVIDafternoon. “Work with what you got,” is a reminder I tattoo on my thoughts and I ought to find ways to entertain myself throughout this day.

I lay away and read to stimulate the brain, but then I hear a loud “thud” in a nearby gangway. I prop up to question the origin of this unknown commotion. Conducting a swift reconnaissance of the ground level of my fortress I discover no sign of a breach at its entrance. There’s no culprit to subdue, so I seek for clues and irregularities in my fixed surroundings. Ala “Dick Tracy” I inspect and wish to detect the perpetrator for this midday distress. Then, in the midst of my quest I recognize the soft whining of an old door’s hinges cringingly creaking and it’s paired with the gun-cocking-like clatter of an unlocking doorknob. I brusquely realize the clamor came from a space above and my CORONAimprisoned brain, that’s been marinating in everything “Mafia” on Netflix, jumps to conclusions claiming there’s been an intrusion.

I rush up the stairs determined to capture my potential invader and see the access to my bedchamber has been closed and secure. I swing open the entry, step in and scan the dormitory uncovering no trace suggesting a trespassing. It’s now in my best belief that, for the sake of my sanity, I must forfeit and retreat from this lunacy. I turn around to walk out of my boudoir when I’m abruptly put to a halt. Because in front of me is standing a seductive soul-snatching covert Burmese assassin. I do a fast “optical pat-down” to assess the gravity of the situation but there is no way a weapon could be sheathed beneath her tight and deadly black-laced-lingerie. The sexy intruder walks towards me, and I start backpedaling. She closes the door behind her quietly. A sly smirk oozes off her jib and then she provocatively nibbles at her lip. Wielding eyes that are lethally hypnotizing I feel her silently taunting me. I say a quick prayer to the gods of bedroom warfare and scheme for amatory victory. I’m confident that the sexucational films that I’ve study during isolation, tethered to my many years practicing martial arts, have prepared me for this very moment.

The sensual and consensual sultry wrestle begins, and this killer isn’t hold back. I remember that in judo we’re taught the martial-art’s philosophy of using your opponent’s energy to work against them, “Minimal effort, with maximum efficiency.” In order to discover her weakness, I must flow with the energy of her kinkyness. I cunningly perform an “Ōuchi gari” then cunnilingusly-attack this experienced ninja. Impressed by my technique she nods her head and grins signaling a positive critique. We constantly trade blows not giving the other a chance to catch they breath, both wet in pheromone-laced sweat. My heart nearly stops by her skills in the dark-fellacious arts and realize I can’t go easy on this crotch-wizard.

I’m more than sure that I can conquer her with my pure heart and will, but she’s a skilled, foxy, dick-slaying assassin, so I must work on a coquettish-strategy. Our bodies continue to clash and genitalia smashes against another violently. So far, it’s been a fair fight. But I’m out to win, so it’s time to “play dirty.” I quickly pass her guard and went straight into “Kesa-gatame,” where I then went full “Christian Grey.” While pinning her down I use my nearby shirt-ties as mock handcuffs and fasten her wrists behind her. Then the prowler bends over and submits, releasing a cute wince. The lustful assassin is now in erogenous bondage and devotedly helpless. She moans affectionately in ecstasy when I begin the blindfolding. I’m amazed that a smile never leaves her face. In a haste I pace around in search for a tool-of-arousal to help me slay this sexecutioner. “I have to work with what I got,” I laughingly say to she and begin to craft my improvised sexual weaponry.

Like a filthy “MacGyver” I forge a phallic-like venereal-dagger and hover over my romantic prisoner. She’s restrained, deprived of her sight and I can annihilate this quixotic-assailant now or I can take my time. I opt to toy and tease her as tender-torture, but the coitus-stabbing isn’t enough to massacre her. So, I pull her hair by the tips to bring her ear near my lips and say, “you’ll soon be finished.” Stepping back to rapidly examine the specimen, I decide my angle of trajectory and then reminisce of the wise words from my karate sensei, “A weapon is simply an extension of your own body.”

While my attached weapon has her gagged, I commence to thrust deep stabs her exposed Burmese-gash with the counterfeit-sex-armament. The bootylicious hitwoman undergoes an uninterrupted combo of attacks from every position and in amorous anguish she begs for her execution, to extinguish the repetitive impalement. I won’t fall for any deceit, so I dismiss her plea and don’t stop until she falls in defeat. All sides penetrated in unison and her hatchet-wound is now leaking profusely. During the final blows I rip off her blindfold to stare into the windows of her soul. I jab the prurient-bayonet and leave it stuck in her concupiscent-laceration. Libidinous tears roll downwards to the margins of her gapping smile as she topples over shakingly. I pull out the lascivious-carver and see how the slit spit like a geyser. She squirms in between her squirts before eventually perishing, like how one would bleed-out from a gushing perforated artery and I’m the final finishing winner. I stand over the intriguing bedroom-raider, continuously staring into her mesmerizing eyes and begin to unbind the securing ties. I make an abrupt exit and leave her kaput and lifeless. It’s now calm and there’s no disorder.

I’m back downstairs fixing myself a refreshing pint of beer. When I then vociferously hear, “O****R! WHAT THE  F * C K , ARE YOU SERIOUS!? PLEASE TELL ME YOU DID NOT USE THIS M****R IN A CONDOM ON ME WHEN I COULDN’T SEE!” I spill my beverage because I’m laughing hysterically, slapping the counter and fall to my knees. Gathering myself while still chuckling, I pour another beverage and answer to the voice ahead, “Babe, during the heat of battle, it’s do or die, and you must improvise with what you got!” She is displeased with my response and piercingly rejoinders, “SERIOUSLY, A F*CKING M****R!?” My laughter never ceases, making it hard to sip my drink and I just stand there and think. I gulp down my pint and utter a late answer, “It’s just part of the ‘role-play,’ don’t worry you’ll be okay.” I try to come up with new ideas to keep things interesting during this bland quarantine.

Our time during this seclusion will only be tasteless if we allow it. So, I get freaky to keep things exciting and continue to flex my ingenuity. Remember that only the boring get bored…

“A M****R!?”

“Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.” -Bear Grylls

Covered in Paint

You choke the shaft of the brush,

wet the tip with what looks like spit

and begin to stroke.

I blush and hush my screams,

from seeing the streaking paint cream,

leaking onto your fists.

Yet you maintain a firm grip and

giggle at how I’m stoked

from your every brushstroke.

You’re talented, creative and reckless

when you allow the paint to spray onto your canvas.

You finger paint with the clumped up droplets and

smile at the masterpiece you accomplished.

While ignoring the paint sprinkled around your eye sockets.

Messages from your Mom

Hey, your moms messaged me asking how everything’s going. Inquiring if I’m up for grabs or taken, if I got kids on the way or ones that are almost speaking. A lot can happen with time and distance once a relationship has been broken to pieces.

Talks with your moms brewed emotions, stronger than Cuban coffee with a dash of Columbian powdered lactose that’s cut with coke. Those three dots erupted a commotion of emotions within my flesh-n-muscle soul-powered locomotive and the gears of my heart grinded thinking of what message is attached to her keystroking. I choke on my own spit as I read what she says. “I miss you everyday and hope we can remain as close friends.” I begin typing away a brief, amicable n sincere rejoinder and before I could reply to her, my cellscreen switches to an incoming call from your mother. I hesitate but answer and quickly initiate to conversate. She did nothing wrong to me and to be honest I miss her loving sympathy. A genuine compassion, unconditional. But it’s making my heart feel trivial…

I hold back my tears and hear her every word, as she tangents off and began to spew of her life and yours. How she feels sorry for what occurred, she hoped my focal-point’s sores are recovered and have not given up on love anymore. I’m torn to bits and burst into an internal fit as I do not admit to her, that my heart is scorned from what her offspring did. I simply tell her, “Everything’s going. It is, what it is.” I keep my talk short and sweet. I’m cordial and respectful but a sensation of a vocal tension arose, after my closing statement “What can we do? You live and you learn.” Your mom said goodbye with tone of rejoice and said, “We’ve missed the sound of your voice…”

I replied in a likewise manner wishing her and what’s hers a bright future.

I now feel like I have closure. I still wish you all nothing but the best.

But it’s time to free my mind and take care of me and mine.

To finally let

my f*cking heart rest.