A Tale of Submission

Unveil your darkest thoughts.

Let me embrace your ugly tragedy

And cry of your pain.

Exhaust your mouth as you do your silence:

Tell me, command me and govern me.

Your sweetest touch melts my skin

And pours it into chunks of gold that plates your heart.

Eyes such as yours cuts loose a freedom in me

To dream and sweat and ache,

Your eyes are a threat –

To my dignity.

What do I have left?

A naked memory of your touch,

Your grin, your soul.

You took me

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A Tale of Submission

Untitled 14- 50th

This is an open letter

To you, my love.

And I pray you nurture every word

As though precious dandelions:

I see you in the color blue

With its tranquility that embraces my worried habits.

I hear you in a hummingbird’s song;

Unapologetically beautiful and hypnotizing.

I smell you in the soft May air,

That carries the phantom of your perfume

To my longing lungs,

And vows to be its companion

Till death do them apart.

I taste you in the sweetest of fruits,

And the silkiest of caramel bites

That revive the memory of your gentle lips on mine.

I feel you in my scars

That mark my hideous body.

I feel you as an ever present thought that:

Regulates my heart’s temper,

My body’s shy blush,

And the eagerness of my breaths.

I sense you, my love,

In every curve of an ‘l’ and every loop of an ‘o’

In every slant of a ‘v’ and every cocoon of an ‘e’

That I pen down.

Every word that I compose

Is weighed with the thought of you.

So take loving care of those precious dandelions,

As I’m afraid mine all have withered.

Untitled 14- 50th

Untitled 10- A Political Poem

I take a bite of a lipstick bullet and

Spit it on a scum of a man that dares to enslave

My child bearing hips.

I tare the skin of a man with my harrowing stiletto heels

That dares to dictate my occupied womb.

I strangle the chords of a man, whose voice dares to stifle mine;

Dares to silence my pleas for peace.

I stab, punch, kick and strike

With my words,

And only in my words.

I pierce the eardrums of a man, with my high-pitched, feminine, poised screams

To set free the caged birds.

But I am not alone; my voice does not ring in isolation.

My voice rings along a spectrum

Of deafening high pitches to deepest vibrations of the chords

The voice of a woman with plenty alike

And the voices of true men

Against the voice of a parody of a man

Untitled 10- A Political Poem

Stranger Series- Part Three

Dear Stranger,

May ended prematurely,

Its warm days fled

As though running from the plague.

The hands of hellish flames

Caressed every crevice,

To an orgasmic death.

My last breath fled with May,

To a faraway village

Where they grow old.

Euphoria abandoned my body,

Like an unhappy forty year-old man abandoning his family.

But it comes back every

Once in awhile,

Torturing me with its allure,

Electrocuting me one delicious volt after the other,

Until every inch of my skin

Is scarred with the memory of May.

Where a breathing corpse remains,

A beating heart does not.

So, good bye, Stranger,

With the hope of a response

From May next year

Stranger Series- Part Three

Stranger Series- Part Two

Dear Stranger,

May was not warm for long,

Instead, I stand dead in the cold

As if it was that dreaded December.

I stared stunned at the towering fence:

Omnipotent and almighty.

Its electric wires coiled around my heart and stung

Like the first touch of virgin lips.

The fence cackled in all its glory –

Taunts that forever haunt me.

But my withering body

Was rejuvenated

Upon your reaching hands.

The lilies from the meadow below

Sang hymns of rejoice.

The thunder did strike

And the lightning did set

The meadow ablaze.

The fire continued to spread,

Plaguing what’s beautiful and true.

Yet, the fence stood with as much might.

Stranger Series- Part Two

Stranger Series- Part One

Hello Stranger,

You’ve come during a peculiar time:

When thoughts have consumed my being

And I’ve been starved of dew.

When rain no longer penetrates my pitless pores

And the reserved May breeze

Does not befriend my skin –

Yet,

Your sickly nectar poisons my unrelenting monologue,

It slashes at its veins

It gashes, scratches and maims it.

Your allure beds my contemplations

With no promise of wedding them.

Your kindness is dishonest

But reveals no signs of lies;

No cluster of mythical words

That I can condemn you for.

So, thank you, Stranger,

For letting me soak under the showers

Of a dull sky,

For warming May,

For a brief euphoria.

Stranger Series- Part One