I no longer feel the weight of tiredness
fasten down my bones to the position of sitting,
or hold me still, sedentary.
Somewhere between all the ways
in which the years have taken from me
– love, laughter, the arms of my mother
– the daughter I was, the woman I was to be
a textured sigh slowly unfurled from my lips
and took the last fuck left to give with it.
I feel muscle in jaw clench like never before,
fists curl and eyes darken to toss out the blue
and fix sight on the image in the mirror
that I am learning more about each day.
There is no smallness in my stature anymore,
my shoulders are squared, braced, ready,
head lifted to dead-on stare down
the things I used to hide beneath.
To not be the girl I was is to see the who I am,
and the dust is settling on this new not-settling-for self
in ways that twist in my gut to push me forward
at times when I would shy away before.
I will no longer compromise my own bearing
to kneel at the feet of the not good enough
I once shined the shoes of
and lay down to be walked over for.
Is it wrong to finally move?
Is it wrong to have you circle around me for once?
Is it wrong to put you firmly in your place?
In the palm of your hand I place my cheek to be cupped
to lean gently on that warmth that I need so badly,
only to find the skin rough
the shape unfitting
and the weight I need to unburden
slips me from the holding.
Your hand an abrasive release that leaves skin exposed
to the cold air of a realisation
that you are a winter I cannot weather,
harsh winds whip my face
from the about turn you do now and then,
that shows me a cliffside for my waves to crash against.
Like the shouting I heave from my heart
I try to wake you up
try to make up
for the fact that it doesn’t matter
what need I hold within these bones.
Because it won’t be sticks and stones
it won’t be words,
it will either be the absence of that hand
on my cheek gently resting,
or it will be my own hand holding my own face
because I cannot trust the
weight of my world
on anyone else
It’s the velvet in the mouth, the roundness over tongue
which curves itself to fit perfect that dark glistening space,
it is this that brings you there at night when I am
when there is nothing but streetlight and sheets
softened by experience to covet my warm skin.
My tongue finds you there in the plump of my lips
your sigh in my ear makes me press them together
but do not smudge the words of breath you left there
for me to taste with every inhale and mourn with every release
I touch my finger to them and feel the indentation of your tongue.
– Can others see this too?
You chose the right letters to cover my skin in
the right fucks and God and please yes.
I want to be refilled, refined and redefined the way you do me.
I know if I scratch hard enough I will find you
ragged images and text that drench me to the bone.
Come again and speak on me,
come again and stain me with your words.
the very word feeling forbidden
on a tongue that has travelled
the peaks and valleys of your body
and flicked over
that reserved spot that makes you quiver,
I roll the word around
let it fill my mouth
seep down my throat
trickle from the corner of my lips,
even an escape is a capture of sorts
and I plan to keep you hostage
between these legs
Stockholm you with these stockings.
I show you my inner thigh
catch your hand and place it
like the popping of a cherry
blood red between finger and thumb,
on that hidden place
for you to feel the warmth of welcome,
an invitation for you
to cum dressed to impress
and enter into this most salacious of spaces
knowing that what lies here
awakens the heavy breath
stirs the mind for flashbacks that will distract
and ensure you endeavour to come back.