What If I Don't Want To?

I'm supposed to write this.  Something for the masses. And I find that all the words have left me of late.  I sit and stare at the paper and it just is.  And I am, but we are not together.  It would be tragic, if it could be considered remotely sad.  Its not like I don't have thoughts.  This morning I swam a mile and my head was full of things and now its empty.

Its always empty the moment the ink is ready. 

My Muse, My Friend

You know, I just don’t understand you. And I wish that I did, or at least knew more about you to make the confusion a bearable placating thing. I’d like to be a friend. But somehow I think I have fucked things up along the way, and while I have vastly tried to fix things, I often feel I’m making more of a mess. I might convey this sentiment to you, if it didn’t feel like every effort is an unwarranted intrusion into your life.

I want to be a part of your life, but I think you may have misconstrued the implications of my desire for you. To be sure I have no ill intentions or misguided delusions of intimacy and that is not exactly what I strive to clamor for. That’s not what this raucous is about. I have never thought that asking to be someone’s friend would be so complicated and tedious a task, but you seem to effortlessly excel at it.

Perhaps it is arrogance, but I cannot bring myself to try and correct you. I think it’s more like to be fear. And maybe I do want more out of you than friendship, but it’s something I’ve already taken. Whether you want to be or not, I’ve made you a muse. Or maybe Fate has, she tends to be a mucker. My many misadventures have seemingly led to you, and so I will take this if this is all I have to gain from you. And let me assure you, it is not enough.

I want to be close. I want to be friends. I want to be the kind of people who call each other in the middle of the morning/night/etc because it is all suddenly so overwhelming and the sheer magnitude of it is crushing down and you can rant and rave endless and know the other person is listening and even if they haven’t had that exact feeling they know where you are coming from and have some thoughts to express and some suggestions to make. And even if all the advice fails, you know it is all going to be fine because you both can share in that moment and be free to be afraid together, knowing in the end the storm will pass and it will be good again tomorrow.

I am not searching for a savior, saint or prophet. Nor would I expect you to fulfill those roles. I am merely asking for a companion on this long lost road, on this distant journey to many misadventures. And sadly I’m finding the place I believe you should belong, despairingly vacant.

Inspiration

You make me feel like a sticky pistil
Leaning into her stamen.
You make me feel like Mr. Sunshine himself.
You make me feel like splendor in the grass where we're rolling
Dance with me baby
You make me feel like the Amazon's running between my thighs.

You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love, love
You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love

You make me feel like a candy apple; red and horny
You make me feel like I want to be a dumb blonde
In a centerfold, the girl next door.
And I would open the door and I'd be all wet
With my tits soaking through this tiny little t-shirt that I'm wearing
And you would open the door and tie me up to the bed.

You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love, love
You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love

Lover, I don't know who I am.
Am I Barry White - am I Isis?
Oooo
Lover I'm laced with your unconscious,
I will be your Desdemona

You make me feel, ohhh
You make me feel, woowoo baby
You make me feel, ahhh
You make me feel, oh, oh, ah, ah, oh, oh...

Mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it.
A kiss can be even deadlier if you mean it.

Attraction. That instant when your attention is completely captured by another. Your eyes lock and everything else in the room is still. Muffled.
Think of every war movie you've seen where they have that one seen where the character is shell shocked. You can still see the horror of battle going on; bodies flying, bombs exploding, shrapnel catapulting through the air - chaos incarnate. But there's only that muted shush sound the ocean makes.

The seconds that expand in that instant you look at me could compose and eradicate a thousand universes. My breathing stops. My pulse races. Every muscle in my body tenses. Adrenaline burns a mainline, cranking the beat of my heart to a slamfest-escape-attempt in my chest. My jaw locks. My knees give.
Have you ever wondered why I only look at you head on when I'm sitting or leaning against something?

Sometimes I hate it. But I'm always wanting more. Burning with the need for that next look. Coiled like a spring tensing a trigger.
I want to throw caution to the wind, corner you and pounce.

I want to bite you.
Hard.

I want to fight you for dominance in a quest as thoroughly exhilarating as it is exasperating.

I want to explore you like a pioneer on a new world, with teeth as sharp as my intellect.


I want to let it slip how you can
seduce
dominate
overthrow
Me.


Beauty is not applicable to the physical appearance
Only the inspiration caused by another.