Saturday, June 20, 2015

when you sleep where do your fingers go




-a -non- fiction  friendly notice - 

I always seem to be doing it  ... act allI flesh and fire .. act all sweet and soft... all wrong ? ... your bitch, your pet, your lover, your woman, your children's mother, your friend, your ally, your stranger, your niche, your node, your fallen angel, your ship that sailed, your golden one, your teacher, your student, your girl, your stranger, your passenger, your assistant , your foe, your slut ... all wrong ...

none of you gets it, and there's a void in my heart, is it too complex for you ?

too big or too little, always these two ...

I'd like to be yours, belong, really belong, you know ? but it never gets there ... starts off with a little hope, is it you ? but look, no one ever is.., even the self-proclaimed most faithful ones punched holes in me, thinking they could own or disgrace me; ownership and disgrace are shallow, kid. 

I have allowed for the liberties one never dared dream about; the scenes my head and my body have played.. the million scenarios men thought they could try... I take it all in .. and show my most sincere, my deepest, my shallowest and most vulgarly humorous, the most tender, and the most dangerous, my weapons and my weaknesses, the all exposed, the all clandestine, the spy game, the book wide open, the book wide shut, the missing chapters, and the taking of notes on the sides.

I grew believing in a romance so tremendous that could make the sun turn to dust; I always kept believing in that daft illusion there is one among you -only one- and despite all odds and the fainting light at the end of the tunnel, I kept believing. (Do not misunderstand ongoing search for the inability to settle down, one has to survive, so I did too, but the quest is far from that). 

No, I'm no saint, though some have claimed they saw one (yes it was my disappointed back that had just turned on them);

No, I'm no slut, though some tend to believe that a woman who dares to execute their darkest fantasies is the worst of the lot; I love fucking. My cunt will tear your heart to pieces, I am that good. But can you handle it? 

No, I'm no child, though you will realize that if you make love to me, real love, I'll cry as one (love making is too beautiful and my heart can't bear its greatness. You can easily call this a Halley's comet kind of sight though; you see, no has ever made real love to me, and I am only thirty five -a Halley takes about seventy six years to re-appear; I only know I'd bawl the moment you cum inside me because self-eroticism allows for the forecast).

No, I'm no mother, but several of you have  been hugged like the cello, felt my hand brushing their backs. And I don't wish to become one anymore ; Why you ask ? Well, I've had been dreaming of motherhood ever since I was old enough to feel mercy; but if you are looking for the father of your children you're looking for the man whose hands can make you feel safe enough, woman enough, lover and partner enough; no man lived up to this kind of expectation; my child should be produced of pure love genes, I should want this man so bad. So no, I haven't wanted it yet. 

No, I'm not easy; I seem so because my mouth is too big to shut up; I speak the truths that reside in my head, because I see your best and make a small god of it; and that is fucking unbearable to you all; But I am not easy. No real person is easy. Not even the most easygoing of people.

No, I'm no sheep; no poor little nobody; no pet; occasionally I get humble before you, because I like respect and courtesy. Good manners, kid. Politeness ...and a little fetish. I crown you king, as long as I'm queen. And your fun will be grand, you'll have the time of your life with me. Want me to beg for it ? Ask and you shall receive but be ready for a power-pylon hit. Make no mistake, I belong as long as I wish to. If not needed enough, there's no treaty between us. Everyone always wanted the full surrender, the tame look, but non-rioting days would bore them senseless. 

No, I'm no succubus. Apparently so. But quite a few could use one, to sustain their intense inclinations. Accepted. I will play along. I am convincing. 

No, I'm not unfaithful. Unfaithful people do not stand by you, and do not support your noble causes. I do. 

No, I'm no loyalist. Loyalists shift given any opportunity to do so.

No, I'm not cruel. Cruelty is what comes out as a consequence. Sylvia Plath ate men like air, and look what she did, she blew her brains out in the oven.

No, I'm no pacifist. Love is a war, with battles so constant. But having been around the world, you should know even war brings out the worst but also the best in people. I accept them all, as a course that needs taking.

The grandma I had (my mother tells me, I've never met her) used to say that in order to know someone's heart, you 'll have to consume twelve fifty-pound bags of salt on the back of a donkey... which is a long time; and no one so far, none (really) has been strong enough to consume so much salt or to keep consuming without getting tired of their burdened equus. Donkeys are stubborn, and kicky. So am I, you'll get your ass kicked.

No, I'm not mean. But I have been. Reckless, one has called me. Survival skills. How could I ever save my heart for the best one, if I cannot afford to be mean to who hurts it? 

No, I'm not dirty. Dirty talk, dicks and fucks and cunts, and cums, and asses and wholes, spit and spank, tie and thrust, balls and piss all come out with the utmost purity. One has to be innocent at heart to be able to pronounce the filthiest of words with adoration. Only the truest liars get disgusted by word and act; The capability to love , to truly fall for the other being makes every language endearing. Your tongue won't be wetter if your eyes cannot sincerely shed tears. Sharing your body secretions striping your soul of vetoes is not just a pleasure it is a sacrosanct. No dirt there. Guilt and remorse are a no-go. 

No, I'm no jellyfish. You cannot think you know my guts just because my words allow for inspection. Bombastic, verbose, or rambling, depends on how you look at it, but these are granted words ... at best a willful loan ... a peek .. the rest is up to you.

Got thunderstruck.. don't be, kid ... you are smarter than that, my gut tells me, you are a strong being, a golden babe, a heart that beats like a thousand thunders, my Riva speedboat, the sun itself. Act, react, re-enact, interact... who knows what you'll do next ? but I guess what I was trying to make out, when I first talked to you is as simple as that : Who are you?

Yes, I'm intrigued; learning from the best is my drive. 





2 comments:

Rick Forrestal said...

Who ever this was meant for . . .
well written, well felt.
Sorry for the pain, but not the growth.
Hang in there, girl.
You're special.
xo

Setty Lepida said...

Rick, the one it was meant for is not even aware these words, or blog, exist, and won't be; I just had to shoot this, y'know;empty the barrel; won't do a thing, but hey, at least I get to feel the grip; you're a darling, thank you for the flowers :*