tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57865567458112799572024-03-07T20:49:12.720-08:00A Miscellaney of SoliloquiesBobbihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02509227453406829214noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786556745811279957.post-75091905467251055672011-09-29T22:17:00.000-07:002011-09-29T22:17:10.908-07:00Untitled 2One phrase<br />
Two words<br />
Seven letters<br />
They say a multitude of things: <br />
I hate the way you look at me and only see the past. <br />
The way you think you know me and yet only you can grasp<br />
What you knew, who you were, and who you were with.<br />
Well guess what? I was just the kid. <br />
An unofficial byproduct, a zygote of the genes<br />
I was just the reason for the two of you to deem<br />
Expendable, bendable, malleable and a means<br />
To an end, to the end, to the achievement of your dreams<br />
Only guess what? Your dreams were different<br />
They were built upon lies. Built upon the reasons why<br />
She wanted you and then she wanted him. <br />
You wanted the freedom to fly at your whims. <br />
She couldn’t reason the twisting of her mind<br />
You didn’t care, were just looking for a dime-<br />
Bag of mischief, of fantasy, of dare<br />
The only truth you witnessed was of what you were aware <br />
Of nothing, that’s how the story goes. A choice was made <br />
Two paths were taken. If you think that sign says u-turn<br />
You are sadly mistaken. <br />
Why? If only you would ask.<br />
I am standing at those crossroads. I am living those two lives. <br />
Both of them are dreary. Both of them are lies. <br />
One I know the truth. It’s blurry and it’s grim. <br />
Two thinks I’m witless and don’t know the half of it<br />
But I’m standing at these crossroads. <br />
I’m holding tightly to that sign. <br />
I’m screaming for existence.<br />
I’m making it mine.<br />
My fingers clench this sign post.<br />
My message should ring true.<br />
One phrase<br />
Two words <br />
Seven letters<br />
Fuck you.Bobbihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02509227453406829214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786556745811279957.post-42884306711196960052011-09-29T22:16:00.000-07:002011-09-29T22:16:11.841-07:00Silent EpiphanyShe sat<br />
Her back turned<br />
Her movements muted.<br />
The line of strength spoke from the curve of her spine.<br />
<br />
I watched<br />
Emboldened by the silence<br />
Comforted by anonymity<br />
Should I reach out with my hand?<br />
<br />
One touch<br />
A single moment<br />
I would ask no more.<br />
The epiphany kept me silent, kept me still.<br />
<br />
She turns<br />
Does she know?<br />
My sleep is feigned<br />
But the need for her to keep looking is real. Bobbihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02509227453406829214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786556745811279957.post-19776578011530469232011-09-29T22:15:00.000-07:002011-09-29T22:15:14.905-07:00-reve a la vanille-On days like these-<br />
Grey days, rainy days, these days of blur and honey<br />
Sit down to your porcelain altar of vanilla sweetness<br />
And dip within, spoon then hand, to savor your cream and ice.<br />
Silver within white-<br />
A mixing of emotions, with friction, heat and zen-ness<br />
It’s always best when you can melt it with your patience<br />
Feel the submission through the pads of your finger tips.<br />
Feel the pleasure-<br />
The control, the time, the distance between spoon and tongue<br />
Just let it fall to pieces within the contours of your mouth<br />
Close your eyes and exalt the taste dripping down your throat<br />
Exacerbate the rhythm-<br />
Spoon, bowl, cream, taste, repeat until you cannot take<br />
A single ounce more to sit warm within your soul<br />
Look out that window-stroke your fingers around that bowl<br />
Skin to tongue-<br />
Waste not, want not, leave no crevice left abandoned<br />
No remnant of this beauty left upon even the tip of your thumb<br />
Skin to tongue, taste gently the flavor, intermingled the salt of sweat.<br />
And when nothing is left to be given-taken-swallow.Bobbihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02509227453406829214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786556745811279957.post-14054678007049888042011-09-29T22:14:00.000-07:002011-09-29T22:14:18.438-07:00UntitledWhen the reflection staring back at her becomes too familiar<br />
Every flaw constrasted in stark assurance that she is<br />
mediocre, trivial, plain<br />
The weight of ineptitude becomes crushing.<br />
When the face in the mirror begins a mocking tyrade<br />
Of all that she once thought she was<br />
Smart, pretty, lovable<br />
The fear of loss becomes unbearable.<br />
And then it begins, the dreams, the waking nightmares<br />
The featurless face lauging from the shadows with<br />
threats, promises, names<br />
The need to cling becomes overwhelming.<br />
But she can't.<br />
Her fear wins.<br />
Because.<br />
When she reaches out to touch or hold or kiss<br />
Even if just for a second to express<br />
love, affection, desire<br />
The fear of rejection crumbles her.<br />
And she stands back in front of that mirror<br />
With eyes of regret, tears of weakness, trembling hands<br />
She can only wait and hope<br />
For some sort of redemption.Bobbihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02509227453406829214noreply@blogger.com0