Various shades of longing: red

The way my face flames up when I see you, think of you, touch you, kiss you, lick you, suck you, enter you, finish you.
The color in which I live: the color of aggression, anger and bitterness.
The color I feel in. The color I am.
The color that makes me happy, and joyful,
the color that makes my heart ache for you.
The color which begins life and the color that ends life.
The color of a type of romance I don't understand and do not want.
Instead I want true red, and your true heart.
Give me what is mine.
Maybe I'll give you what is not yours, and never will be.
Red: the color of protection, of confusion, of despair.
The color I feel in. The color I am.
The color which engulfs my body and my soul when you see me, think of me, touch me, kiss me, lick me, suck me, enter me, finish me.

Longings of various shades: black

Black, like your hair: thick and curly. Looking good short or long. Above your black eyes and dimples, which made you look more like a little boy than a man. And I still wonder, after all these years (4 1/2 since we broke up) why couldn't you get your shit together? Not for me, not even for us, but for yourself. You thought I was everything and I thought you were everything. If I was everything to you, and I thought you were everything, why didn't you think you were everything to you? You wanted to be my knight in shining armor. But it was your own demons you couldn't save me from. I don't want you back. I just want you to be happy. I want this hole in life to go away. But no matter how good anything looks, it still doesn't look like you.

Stacia: not a damsel in distress

Longing in various shades: blue

Longing for the blue sweater, your blue sweater, that swallowed me up the way you wanted to swallow my mind and soul. It hugged me the way you did, loose and heavy, both at the same time. Yet after I took it off, we had to make sure none of my hair was on it, in case she found it.
And under the moon, at the castle, on a hill, in the rain, in Germany, drinking beer and eating pringles, talking about philosophy, history, literature, life, love, and distance.
Holding hands like little children, but never going beyond. Like if we started we would never be able to let go of each other. And you had someone waiting for you at home, and I guess I did too. And those words on our final night, "you can fall in love in 3 weeks" but can you?
It's been one and a half year, and now your e-mails are signed by her and you.
But every now and then, I get an e-mail, telling me you miss the beer and pringles, and our walks, our talks, the rain, the hill, the castle, and the shooting star we wished on. And you promise me hugs and tell me no one is good enough, but you don't want me to be lonely either. And I pull out my favorite picture, the one where I'm wearing your blue sweater, and we look like we belong to each other and maybe you were right about only needing 3 weeks.
Stacia

Desire

I want a man to look at me like he has never seen a woman before. I want a man to smile at me as if he had never had a reason to smile before. I want a man to touch me as if he had never touched a woman before and he wants to discover everything about me. I want a man to touch me like he is trying to discover himself in me. I want a man to go beyond making love to me, to create love with me, with more intensity and desire. I want to make a man feel like I am air, food, and life and without me, there is nothing. I want to make a man feel like he is my air, food and life and without him, I have nothing. I want to become so tangled up, that I am unable to recognize whose limbs belong to whom. I want to become so tangled up, that mine belong to him, and his to me. I want discover myself in a man. I want to feel so intensely that I forget my name, his name, time, place, life itself. I want a man to see me so clearly, that he names me. I want a man to kiss every inch of my body, in adoration of the gift I give him. I want to return that gift. I want a man who is willing to not only enter my body, but also enter my soul. I want a man who makes me want to let him into my body and my soul. I want to desire.

Mirrors

I saw you today, and you reminded me why my students are only little boys. It was a nice reminder. You make me wonder, if it were another time, another place and you were someone else, and I, I will always be I, no matter what. But under those conditions, would you be more willing, more able, more open, just more? I can make you whatever you want to be. I can take you to any other time or place. But I, I will always remain I. Place me in a house of mirrors and each reflection will be different, but it will still be I. You may not like some of them, but there must be one or two that you find. That's it, just find. Find mysterious, beautiful, dangerous, thoughtful, intelligent, creative, alive, even dead. I am all here. I am waiting and not waiting. Looking and not looking. Finding and not finding. Living and not living. Hoping and not hoping. What are you doing?

Stacia

Rape: in Three parts

I'm learning not to look over my shoulder.
and maybe I'll no longer have that dream.
That dream, where I wake up and
You stand at the end of my bed:
With a rifle,
With a baseball bat,
or worse,
nothing but your hands.
Just because I (will be) am (was) your wife
does not give you the right to enter (me).
The sky is dry, the room is dry
The bed is dry, I am dry.
Regardless, just because you (think you) own me:
it is still rape, when you try to enter my (w)hole.
That is not my soul on your hands, but my blood.
I just close my eyes and
tunnel into that part of me that you can never get to.
Besides, I know this will be over very quickly.

Why do you look for me between my legs?
I am not there.
If you want to find me,
look up at the Starry Night,
walk with me in the Garden of Earthly Delights.
Help me collect Stones from a River.
Join with me, as I perform the Rite of Spring,
or let us play in the Leaves of Summer.
Let's dance among the Soot and Stars,
as we look for the Reptile among the Wasteland.
We can chase the Butterflyz after the Lightening Crashes.
We will survive Little Earthquakes,
as you look into my Green Eyes, as I tell you You're not Alone.
Or perhaps I am in A Room of One's Own
pouring over Maps or even drawing my own Map of the World.
You may find me reading King Lear on the Red Carpets
under the Blue Dining Table in the Red Studio.
But you claim I have a Heart of Darkness
So you shoot the Arrow of God at me
as I try to explain that Things Fall Apart.
I made The Promise to always
sing to you a lovesong, but now
that feels like the Dream of a Ridiculous Man.
I thought you were Some Kind of Wonderful and
I wanted to Praise You.
But now I know that was a Terrible lie and
all I feel is Fear as
I am Waiting for the Barbarians.
You make me wish for the Time Before Man.
I feel like a Raw Youth,
and I know that I can be Cruel but I am not The Demons.
All I am looking for is What I loved
among the Crazed and Midnight's Children.
I listen to the Other Voices, Other Rooms and
pray you quit playing these Wicked Games
and just Say Good-bye.

You called me a whore if I wanted it (which was rare).
Worse if I didn't (which was often).
Words of pleasure rarely spoken between us (in the bedroom).
But now I decide:
Whom to spread for
When to spread
Where to spread
How wide to spread
How many to spread for.
And I discover what you were looking for (myself).
And I no longer look to see if you watch me squirm with a pleasure
that you never provided (anyone).
You no longer exist (for me) on me.

The Words

The words exploded into their respective colors:
blood red, bruised purple, silent black.
they crushed and weighted and scarred,
worse than the rain of blows.
Blows which left
blood red, bruised purple, silent black.
Or is this just a recreation of a recreation?
The words, the words, the storm of words.
repeat; repeating; repeated.
Then complete, utter, deafening, ear-splitting
Silence.
These; this; that;
much worse than the blows:
cotton candy pink; light lavender; washed-out grey.
But people understand the blows.
Refuse to acknowledge the explosion of words.
Words painting the landscape of my brain:
blood red, bruised purple, silent black.

Drowning

I just don't know. It just swirls and flows and rips and floats above and below me. But I can't grasp it and I can't swim in it and I can't fight my way out of it. It's just there. And I don't even know what it is. I choke and struggle but I refuse to cry. I won't ask for help, for deliverance, because I don't think there is any. I'll just wear myself out and sink slowly. Hopefully there will be something entirely new down there, something I never imagined and then maybe it will be alright. Maybe it's what I'm looking for but I was just looking in the wrong places. I had to lose and tire and give up first. And maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and it'll be lying there besides me. And maybe I'm the virgin Mary