Sweet destruction

There is something about our sweet destruction
that is so irresistible to the senses. Day by day,
I am becoming accustomed to the crashing,
the breaking, the wild, spinning-madly-out-of-control
bliss as our language. I look forward to waking up
with you coffee ground into my spine, as my body
melts in your hands like heroin on spoon,
attempting to spell addiction in my pulse.

Catching up on #bemymuse
Irresistible – as requested by 
@rbeezie12
Bliss – as requested by 
@shgrace7
Spin – as requested by 
@parchedllama

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Numb

I don’t remember you tasting like anything
other than last night’s alcohol, yesterday’s
could be’s, and this morning’s regrets.
I remember you like my wine glass,
more than half full of air and broken
promises. Although my body still
aches of places you called home,
this only happened because it was
too dark for me to tell the difference
between concrete and collarbone.

Don’t get too numb that you can’t tell the difference.
#bemymuse 20 & 21
Broken – as requested by 
@juliawollentz,
Broken promises – as requested by 
@pirah.farooqui.

The beast in me

I am more lioness than girl.
I am more snarl than smile.
I am not the silent type purring
sighs into your chest. The way
that I will scream your name
is more roar than moan, as my
nails claw the flesh of your
backbone. I am the insatiable
beast of the night and morn.

Save for the moments between
sunset and darkness, when your
fingertips find the curve of my
waist, and you pull my raging
form tight against our heaving
breaths and heartstrings.

#bemymuse 13 & 14
Beast as requested by 
@filmyfijian
You as requested by 
@08_mcm_80

Parables and hymns

I want to be the sort of scripture that
you are not afraid to call good news.

Let my words be the verses that sink
through your blood stream and anchor
themselves to your pulses when
you are unsure of this world.

I don’t want you to worship the
frayed binding of my spine,
but I want to be the reason
you believe in something bigger
than the parables etched in
my skin like hymns.

#bemymuse 12, as requested by @gedthompsonpoet

Almost

There is nothing romantic about a love
that used to be, a love that happened,
and then ended, just like everything else
in the world. People often romanticize
tragedy, like the kiss that almost was,
the “maybe” that could have been but
will remain a “what if” forever. There
is nothing beautiful about something
that once was, but died. Ended. Failed.

#bemymuse 9, as requested by @kerflooey_

Resilience

Through clenched teeth and failing knees,
my soul resiliently hums a symphony of hope.
I know my heart will heal,
fear will loosen its icicle claws.
But for now, each keystroke soothes and
revives the tender ears of my forlorn heart,
as it listens to the tune of a humble song
that calloused feet keep pressing on.

Catching up on #bemymuse requests:
Resilience- for @anviejezette
Forlorn – for @lovelylogophile
Symphony- for @maxwelldpoetry

Healing

I’m not the type who takes a lot of selfies.
Today, he took a hundred horrible pictures
of me, and said he loved each one. I could feel
that he meant it. Is this how it is to h e a l ?
Unlearning panic and believing when
a person says they won’t leave you,
having the courage to trust. Again.
I just have to learn to stop
being scared of saying that.

#bemymuse 5, as requested by @abdulkadiir_mb

First love

Whenever I want to remember a time
when love was simpler, I think of you.

When love didn’t mean getting undressed or
doing drugs, when love was as simple as you
walking me home, with my hand in yours, and
you kiss me on the porch as we bid goodbye.

I have loved a handful of men after you.

But I find myself trying to remember
the exact color of your eyes and
what it felt like to be pure again.

For  #bemymuse 2, as requested by @physical_mentality