Resilience

I have fallen
But I got up
Again and yet still
Again
The world and some in it
Pushed me down
Pulled me down
Willed me down
To no avail
I lift up my eyes to the hills
I bring up the honor of my family
I raise up from the mist and muck
And dare them to try once more

Sweet Bitterness

the ache in the hollow of my heart connects me to us

to you

i embrace the pain of my broken mass

allowing the weeping organ to grieve

The Lover

Your mere presense is foreplay
No need for touch or glance
Breath quickens
Blood thickens
Love is near, perchance

Remedy to the demise of the written word

Oft times it is well within my interest to save both time and space when I converse via cellular device.  I have found over time that my correspondence rarely qualifies the necessity of formal vernacular.  To that point, I commonly rely on casual cellular colloquialisms.

Specter Love

ghost hands caress my hips

my breath slows as my heart beat quickens

tears spring to my eyes

as my mind races in vain for love gone

love lost

Kissed by the Sun

The sun kisses my eyelashes and

I believe that my eyes sparkle

The dull dark brown glows

to a warm hot molasses

that pools beneath

the lids

The sun bathes my skin and

suddenly the pigment shines

The ashy dry wood

becomes smooth milk chocolate

I am beautiful

Scene

It was not the day that Tom strode confidently through the halls but a rare moment during which his demeanor matched his internal personality that someone finally called him out.  In the boy’s bathroom riding the fine line between a restroom break and hooky, Tom broke his countenance and stared hatefully at the growing young man in front of him.  Eyes seeping disgust rolled past thin, wimpy arms and pale chapped lips snarled as Tom’s hands reached under his shirt grasping for a six-pack that wasn’t there.  Not expecting an audience, Tom gave into the moment and wept, openly, at the betrayal his body continuously held against him in spite of the daily portion of muscle milk, diet of red meat and supplements, and nightly workouts.  The sound of a stall door opening startled Tom; he could have sworn he was alone.  Quickly wiping at his face, Tom turned on the water and wanted to avoid eye contact while rushing past the kid who might spread his weakness across school by lunch.

 

“What’s your routine?” a low voice offered behind Tom.  Before he could even turn to answer, the boy sauntered then stood next to Tom and looked at him in the mirror.  “Do you just do sit ups and crunches or do you also do reps for your arms?  Tom, still startled at the seeming clairvoyance of this strange student, decided to play along to further draw the situation from his momentary catharsis.  “Yeah, I do 100 each every nite then add barbells.  How about you?”  When forming the question, Tom stole a glance at the young man who stood shorter than him but also bulged softly beneath his simple cotton t-shirt.  “Well, I used to work out like crazy, even when I was playing football.  But I couldn’t’ seem to get the right kind of results.”  Tom licked his lips without realizing figuring he understood where the conversation might be going.  “So what did you do,” Tom carefully asked, straining to keep his voice even.  The student reached into his pocket and finally Tom saw the solution to his problem.  In the student’s hand were steroids.

 

Character Sketch

The concrete supported a hefty bottom.  Clothes squeezed over rolls and full flesh.  Where the ground met the brick wall, the large girl’s back absorbed what little heat remained between the brick and mortar.  The thin worn blue cotton shirt barely made it over the muffin top protecting the jeans which should have been donated last season.  Soft wheezing unconsciously escaped full pink lips and the breath wafted white up and away from the young child.  Though the large army style jacket covered the girls’ upper body, seat pooled in the nooks and crannies of soft chubby round rolls beneath the cotton.  The jacket did not capture all the scents of the girl’s body and each breeze escaped with snatches of musk and body odor.  The hairs of the girl stretched to remain in the small bun no longer than a grape on the top of her head.  Being the end of her school day, a few strands gave up the exercise and wafted in wisps around her head.  The girl allowed her body to slump and relax into its natural state of amorphousness and her dark chocolate skin held back the fury bubbling beneath.

Book Flap

How does one tap into the goddess within?  Even when you do, what happens when you discover you are on the other side of good?  Christina has grown up amidst wealth and privilege only to find herself living a life of little choice and less pleasure.  As small events in her life merge, she realizes that more is happening around her than puberty.  Embracing the messages, Christina enters into a dialogue that could prove to be both powerful and deadly.  Once Christina embraces her role in the cosmic conversation, she must choose what her connotations will be.

This book takes the reader to a new place and unveils how a goddess is born.  The writing constructs images more vivid than a movie and the reader will not be able to stop until the story reaches its sensual and shocking end.  Whether or not you believe in God or gods, this book will make it hard not to…

Believe in Christina.

Rendevous

I get your text message.  Excitedly, you agree and the time is set.  9 pm seems days away as opposed to half an hour and I make my way to the lake.  Near the dorm, flooded in light, our greeting seems normal.  Salutations appropriate.  But once we step toward the dimness of the lake, an electrifying staticism grows between your hand and mine.  Suddenly my kneck feels warmer and the quickly decreasing space between our bodies is the most urgent thing on my mind.

Neither of us wants to break the brewing spell so we silently agree not to speak and allow the inevitable to unfold.  The first brush of skin against skin occurs during the slow pace we purposefully choose as if our time together will expand and slow time as long as we intentionally exist.  The fire grows from my pinkie and spreads slowly throughout me.  The lean of a tree invites me to rest my back and I smile softly.  You pause, clearly thinking, deciding, before you move.  One foot in front of the other.  The gap between us closes.  Our personal bubbles have merged and I can see the short light hairs on your cheeks.  When you reach for my hand its already there.  My eyes never leave your gaze.  Under the moon, we share our first kiss.