Tag Archives: hurt

Charlotte

Ice cream blonde, hair bright, a silken halo falling down

 

over her American Flag bikini top.

 

 

 

She laughs and smiles like a child, writing her name in the dark

 

with the burning sparkler.

 

 

 

Even know, after it all, she laughs and smiles like a child, so free,

 

in this sweet moment.

 

 

 

Fourth of July and the sky explodes in color and fire and smoke,

 

and her halo shines back it’s light.

 

 

 

Independence Day, maybe we’ll be independent of the past,

 

of mistakes and the things that hurt us.

 

 

 

Declare we are one now, again, and the sweetness will come.

 

Maybe we’ll make love…

 

 

 

…….really make love, with tenderness and hope and softness,

 

and actually grow close in a touch.

 

 

 

The sparkler reaches it’s end, and she exclaims, asks for another,

 

to write her name in the dark again

 

 

 

where it will last and be eternal and kept and cherished by all.

 

Let this be Independence Day.

 

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Feared or Loved?

I told her not to ask that. That question. About that girl.
She fucking did anyway. They always do. Always fucking do.
I just don’t inspire respect, somehow. My wishes aren’t honored.
I say don’t talk about that. Don’t about that around me.
Don’t pick at the scar. They laugh, call me a fag, do anyway.
Friends are supposed to love you, and care about you.
But, if I hurt, they just want jam their fingers in the wound,
have a good feel around, laugh at me for protesting,
go back to that go to word: “Fag!”
Sometimes I wish I was violent and vicious, someone feared,
like a goddamn Conan The Barbarian motherfucker,
the kind of person that beat people into pulp at the slightest
provication, disrespect or insult. People would defer to violence.
Miciavelli was right: It’s better to be feared than loved.
He just wasn’t right like he thought.