Maybe I should preface this...but I won't

To denial the capacity
Of which I,
You
Affect me, affect the world and child around you.

I sit and stew a judgment of your lack of responsibility
As I mirror your image
A mimic of your body
While uttering a breath of condemnation of your action

Foolishly made poor decisions
Intimacy between two peoples connection of desires and dreams
Lays way for tears of my love, my friend
And here I sit trying to process the aftermath of thoughtlessness and feel good decisions

To not take into account the boundaries which must lay way
To not respect enough the person that you claim to like and sign off letters with a
x.
To your door he hobbles broken foot and soon to be broken and disenchanted heart and spirit, for yet another failed relationship

Lord, might you, might you show me Your Word
You say, “unfaithful concubine, once pursued and taken to a city center.”
Temporarily rendered unharmed until
You come to the door demanding to have sex with my husband
But instead my host offers you his virgin daughter and me
You don’t want me but you take me and rape me
As I stumble home, I lay on the doorstep and die.
And you my husband, all you say as I lay at your doorstep
My cunt bleeding, from repeated entry of another’s decision, another’s action
And you my husband, all you say as I lay at your foot dead
Is, “Get up, let us go.”
But to this, to this I do not reply, I will not reply

You cut me to pieces and finally
Finally my wings spread and I am the eagle, the dove I always prayed to be
As I lay as a child in the log home of my parent’s American Dream

You riddle me with your words
And play with my thoughts
And you question my confidence?
To speak to me, to taught to me with such a thin red line
The higher I hold you the farther you are shattered and dismantled

The musk of the evening, blurs your face
You step to close and I will slam the door in your face

Is that all you heard?
Did you not hear me speak of the old man that took you in and gave you everything you need?
Did you not hear about the foreigners sitting in the city center with no place to lay their head?
The evil man’s decision is not the moral of the story. Did you not hear what I said?
Why did I give you a verse of the taking in of strangers, providing them with everything that they need?

You really are a beautiful writer you say with such grace and maturity
And all I can think with a sigh of relief is thank you, thank you for loving me beyond this curse, this curse of a look, of happiness and passion
I don’t really know what to say anymore
I am exhausted
Like Brooke’s housemate Kristen
I wander from room to room speaking to myself,
“I don’t know”
Shaking my head “I don’t know” I say
You don’t know what Kristen?
Pocket full of demons
It is just one of those days,
Those days, those days when you knock Kool-Aid all over you Bible, your computer and
hot dog.
Those days when you reach for the onions and your neck displace itself to drop you to your knees.
Those days when you drive to a meeting that meets every week, well that is
except for this week.
Those days when you mend and understand, and are forgiven and are redeemed by your dear friend.
Those days when I cry in your camera wishing to just be left alone,
You tell me you wish you could hold me and I shake my head saying to myself
I just want to be left alone
But I like you.
Those days when the air is blue, fresh and crisp
Those days when you ace your final
Those days when you begin to recognize your fallibility and inability to stand of virtue
Yes,
One of those days.

I hope that if and when
I come from this womb with my arm raised above my head,
As if to symbol Up up up up up,
You would do me a favor and accept that from this womb
A child not be birthed.
Would you do me a favor of acceptance of my stance
For if I do not marry I remain King and Queen
Where and when I was to marry I would be but a Queen

Today I found that the hardest part of change is and continues to be
You, me, we not accepting us, it, me, him or her.

I wander from room to room spouting off verses in my mind
I could stop write and record but-
I continue to move, to live, to breath

I do beginnings
Skipping the pages in between
Before you have room to exhale you find I am at the end
While you form, “Once upon a time” with your lips
and we think it is “The End”
The old man and the witch
coat the magic
“Why chocolate?” asks the Spaniard
“It helps it go down,” says the old man
Compressed from your abdomen
“Trrruuueeee lllloooovvvveee.”

The photo freezes and I see the dawn