The Color Of Hunger

Posts Tagged ‘love

Indulgence, that look in your eye. A tone spoken with a guilty iris. Here’s to that contagious little half-smile making it’s way between your lips.

You stand up, try to. I’m here to help you, shaky legs. Balance. Steady. Outside is not far from us. Take me with you please, I cannot bear me alone with me. Combining fingerprints, we are the children of euphoric stimulation.  Tenderness of molecules, each blossom of skin alive. Witness to mini-rainbows forming in the sprinkler mist of neighboring lawns. Making me giddy. I begin to dance across foreign grass. Soft, wet, green kissing my toes. I feel good, as do you. You tell me this and I laugh at you because you’re laughing at yourself. Squeezing me tighter via palms, I am wearing nothing but you.

You look at me with brand new eyes and I don’t know whether to run or stand rigidly in the light of vulnerability. I have spent months ignoring your gaze in fear that I will never know what it means. Don’t look at me. My face tells nothing of the world inside my head. Our pupils meet and I try to cross the ocean between our two bodies, but I drown long before I reach the shore. These words are tired and as my mouth forms the syllables, they taste stale on my tongue.

I want my legs draped over your shoulders. My voice breath-filled and coy. My hands pulling you in closer. My body writhing with joy. Your face buried deep between my thighs. Holding you in place. Your nose filled with my sweet scent. Your tongue dancing with my taste.

Your hair. Your smile. Your voice. Your words. Your kisses. Your hands. Your heart. Your laugh. Your body. Your clothes. Your scent. Your jokes. Your hugs. You.

Gatherings of  modest raindrops make their way across November skies.
Staggering south as the wind blows. Hard.
55 now. Hugging pavement. Between all the lines.
.
Remains of your reflection loitering in my rear-view.
My eyes begin to leak with curiosity.
A fragile sensation.
Pupils go numb. So stuck on staring at yours. Through yours.
The answers caught beneath the irises. Such pretty irises.
So perfect.
So neat.
.
Yet who am I to be the judge of that?
I suppose I will never know; I cannot see from the inside-out.
So I remain silent.
Sometimes not being in control is the most beautiful thing in the world.
Mind over matter, fucking with these filthy feelings.
But feeling fucks back.
.
A witch with a massive, black book of ugly, mean spells.
Cast upon unsuspecting souls.
360’s on the spinal cord.
A spiral staircase of white.
There is no escape.
There is no end.
.

I’m about as comfortable with myself as I will ever be. I like the way I look, the way I talk, the way I think, the way I live my life. I’m comfortable in my own skin. However, I can always be better. I can ALWAYS be better. Although, I never wanna pull off perfection. I wanna be the passionate one who fights to get somewhere, but I never wanna get there. I cherish the struggle. I want the impossible dream so that I never become like a majority of society and settle for average. I’d rather try super hard to reach an unachievable goal. Enjoying life in the meanwhile as it happens in the present. The great stuff is right now, not twenty years down the line.

I feel compelled to follow my conscience and my heart wherever it leads me, even if that means pain. I’m not scared of pain. These days I embrace the pain. Pain exists so that when pleasure comes, it seems that much more intense. Certain things must exist in this world in order for other things to coexist. I don’t need the unexplainable explained to me to feel good about life. I just feel good about life not knowing everything there is to know. If we never went without, we’d never appreciate what we have. I get nostalgic for the good ol’ days, but look forward for the ones to come. I don’t live in the past; I just visit on occasion. I like not knowing. I like not having everything explained to me. I like having to learn more. I like questioning things. I like pondering life. I’m prolly a bit excessive sometimes, but that’s just me. That’s just who I am.

I love unconditionally. I forgive people like you wouldn’t believe (some of them I probably shouldn’t forgive) and never forget. But I can move past. I don’t judge based on who you were, I judge based on who you are. I never lose interest in people. Mi casa es su casa; what’s mine is yours. I’m a giver like that. If you don’t feel love in yer life, it’s cuz you don’t let it in. I figure sharing is what makes a difference. Never sharing yerself, yer life, yer shit? Well, that just closes you off in a closet somewhere, huddled in the dark cold all by yerself. My life is way too precious not to share it with others, not to truly love and laugh and enjoy all it has to offer. I can’t NOT tell you how it really is, I can’t censor what I’m really feeling.

I believe everything I do every single day is my own fault. Everything that happens to me is cuz I did something that caused it to happen. If someone feels too much drama in their life, it’s cuz they like that drama or they’re not ready to let it go on some level. Life is all about choices. I don’t understand how anyone can hate anyone else. Hate is an emotional response. It’s not based in reason and logic. If someone hurts me, of course I wanna hurt them back. Duh. But I do that by moving on and becoming better than they could ever hope to be. Don’t waste yer time and energy on people and their problems. I try my best, but I’m sure as hell not perfect. I just learn from my mistakes really well.

I love emotion, feeling, words, music, colors, freedom, sex, beauty. Anything that tantalizes and makes me take a second look. I want the body, the mind, and all the in-betweens. I’m a very sexual human being. I imagine everybody naked all the time. Sometimes I wish I could shut off the x-ray vision (it’s not always a pretty sight). My favorite thing about sex is that part right before. The nervous part. The not knowing part. It’s almost more naked than actually BEING naked. It’s the mystery behind the clothes that radiates sexuality for me. There’s just so many combinations, so many sensations. The shallow part of him pulling me in, the deeper part of him pushing me away, the way I want so badly to feel him around me, all around me, every bit of him, to be lost inside of him. It’s acquisition without the burden of possessions. That’s the magic of sex. No matter how lost you get in the moment, storage is never an issue.

However, I will never, EVER give up on love. Love exists and I know it’s out there somewhere. Even if it hurts more than anything in the world. It’s such a subjective thing, such a submissive part of life. But when it’s there, you just know. I also know that love can exist outside of sex and vice-versa. Almost all the time, you tell yerself yer loving somebody when yer just using them to fill some need. This only looks like love. Love takes, but it has to give as well. I know the difference and have gotten considerably better at separating the two.

I drink sometimes. I’ll smoke the occasional cigar/’special’ cigar. I don’t mind being sober or chemically imbalanced. I like to party just as much as the next girl, but’ll strip down and run around naked for no reason at all if the mood strikes. I don’t think I’m a nut. I just stopped caring what people think about me. I love to laugh and have a great sense of humor. I’m fun and compassionate and can enjoy myself anywhere. I don’t hafta leave the house to have fun. I don’t hafta stay at home to have fun. I’m spontaneous, confident, outgoing, and full of life. I’m certainly not stupid, but on the same note, I’m not afraid to be a fool. I don’t hide behind a mask of insecurity. I always intellectualize, but that never stops me from jumping out of a plane or doing something that could potentially kill me.

I love pleasure. I love pain. I’m selfish yet modest, shy yet extroverted. I have intense mental concentration. I zone out and go places inside my head where no one can find me. I dance to music sometimes and nobody understands why I’m dancing. I love to express myself with movement and love music of all varieties. I’m not afraid to cry or share my feelings in a way that leaves me vulnerable. If you can’t tell already, I love to write and learn and imagine. I wanna influence minds and spark thoughts. I take away information instead of just images from a screen; the occasional memorization of the spoken word replaced with real genuine thought process. I can walk around a book store for hours and never get bored. I could prolly do that for days even.

To me, words are like life. Words mean everything. They express the inexpressible, they help me understand myself and the world around me. They express what I’m feeling in ways much like an artist with paint would express himself or herself or itself or whatever. I write to move people, to move myself, to see where I’ve been, where I’m going, to observe and learn, to experience the joy and pain again and again, to experience how relentless life can be, how bittersweet and full of fury it really is. I need for people to understand, to WANT to understand, to WANT to know me, whether or not they’ll like what they get.

I dream cuz I’m a dreamer. I think of how much I rely on my sense of touch, how much a feeling stimulates me and the feelings of things around me. The way the skin feels, running fingers through hair, a soft pair of lips, the curve of an ear, a neck, a back, etc. I find the experience of losing it all very exhilarating. To lose my senses, to lose my beliefs, to lose my life, to lose myself totally; a great beginning to something else. A freedom from a world of unattainable desires.

I think of streams and rivers, tall trees, mossy nooks, greens and browns, the branches high above me as I stand in the middle of a forest lost and confused. I find myself looking with other people’s eyes all the time. Looking through someone else’s pupils, encountering their lives as they do, living loosely through a series of past experiences seen in the present. Think of a movie, think of love scenes, think of watching yerself fuck, think of seeing yerself through yer own eyes, except not. Sometimes I find stuff I’m not even looking for. Sometimes I find nothing. Sometimes I just do what I do.

I ramble a lot. But I’m simply stirred, not shaken. My life is blasted all over this page cuz I can’t help but be me. I HAVE to share myself. I HAVE to be me. I’ll look at an object and I see a million things you don’t see. You see a couch. I see it being made, who sat on it, who fucked on it, what animal died to make it. I’m not full of myself but I know I got what a lot of people want. I don’t generalize often and don’t judge books by covers, but without covers, why would I even buy the book to begin with? Everything is like that. First glance means EVERYTHING. Most of you see my pictures and they draw you in. Yes, those pictures are one hundred percent me. Or at least the outside visual me. Most people don’t seem to care about what’s on the inside anymore. I hope you do. Shit, I’d like to think if you’ve read this far, you must care at least a LITTLE more than the next guy. Either way, I’ve still got yer attention.

Laying flat on the bed, my muscles feel sore. The thermostat reads 77 degrees and it’s hot even with the window open. Something is distracting me, something leads me to something else, so I sit and write and try to make sense of it. Right now I feel like a shooting star that no one knows is falling. Like a tree in the woods that makes lots of sound and ruckus, but no one is there to witness it even if it never falls. I have to obey certain, yu know, laws of the universe, but I never know where I’m gonna end up. I just fall and fall and go boom and smack! Then I hit the earth.

Sometimes writing is all I have. Everything else is just doing stuff for the sake of doing stuff. I’ll get to points where I do things for no reason. Losing logic and reason based on adrenaline and hormones. Some days I wake up with desires unquenched. There are so many things I want, but only so much I can do in a day. Urges seem to come up inside of me out of nowhere. I’m a bit of a compulsive person. Spontaneous even. I like spontaneity. I like doing what feels good. About matters of sex and life and activity and friends and food and just everything. I have no destination, it’s not a journey. I’m just enjoying the trip.

The getting of life is hard. It makes no difference how things get started. What matters is how they end up. In someplace, somewhere, with someone, calling out to be saved. Lost, but never wavering. Take the search for love and the meaning of life for example. How does something or someone I can’t touch or see or define make me so miserably wonderful? Why do I look at thoughts and get mesmerized for hours? I honestly don’t know. I love the way I think, though. I do. I’ll see the words in my mind before I actually say them out loud. I’ll play with each letter before it even touches my lips to be used and abused. I contemplate things before they happen, before I make a move. Weigh my actions on imaginary scales that only exist in so much that I MAKE them exist. I don’t deny myself, I just ignore myself sometimes. I redirect my feelings towards other things.

The power of night turns me on, more so than the day. When the sun no longer shines and the moon rules my mind, my feelings begin to blur and dissolve leaving me stranded on an island of lost love and reinvigorated desire. The tenderness I feel for him is overwhelming, the times I think he’s out there feeling the same way. I stress the word think. I don’t know as much as I may believe cuz I really just don’t know. If that makes any sense at all. I can hope and believe and have faith all day long, but placing trust in something or someone I don’t entirely understand, have never really met, always feels like a risk. And maybe that’s part of the high of being with them or not. The not knowing, the gamble, the fact that I’ll never gain anything until I lose everything.

I would lose it all for some people, but I don’t think they’d lose much of anything for me. I would jump off a cliff for those select few. Whereas they might buy me an orange juice with some booze in it only to be angry about the price and end up keeping the receipt to hold over my head years from now. It’s a crazy sort of feeling that I just don’t know how to quit. Some people say and believe they’re positive people. And sometimes they are. But a lot of the time they’re nothing but doom and gloom disguised beneath fake smiles and tainted kindness.

Days stretching into weeks. All the night clubs and bars I passed tonight downtown, full to capacity on a Thursday night. People searching for sex, searching to become numb, searching for a way not to feel, not to experience. Searching and not even knowing they’re searching. What about tomorrow? The day after? Is it all about just making money so you can spend the money you made? Yup, I’m just rambling now. Fuck. Nothing good could ever come of this.

THEY’RE
 
Creating an attachment, they can’t rush this.
Attachments can’t be rushed.
Links of destruction, sex fueled by Saturday night tendencies.
 
Too rough, slower please.
Ignorance is a frightening form of inner bliss.
She fights, but he prevails.
Too far gone; trying proves pointless tonight.
 
Thinking with feet, her strides become clumsy, unbalanced.
He echoes his behind hers, hungry echoes – not to be taken lightly.
 
RUNNING
 
The purple sky watches as she stumbles between curiosity and fear,
A valid contestant – this chase a game of lust and rapid heartbeat.
Masking tears in raindrops, she grows impatient.
Where did he go and where am I?
 
CLUELESS
 
An engine backfires in the distance,
Mechanical noises pierce the evening air.
‘Let’s go!’
A demand, an order, a perpendicular expression of horizontal desire?
 
Undoing hostility, the poison of persuasion is left pumping through her conscience.
Is he the question or the answer?
Or neither?
Weak at the knees, she forces forward motion despite it all.
 
IN
 
He lights his cigarette; dry shaky fingers strike the cold metal wheel.
Challenging her, he penetrates with restless pupils and foaming irises.
The waiting game’s just too easy to cheat,
The rules, too hard to follow.
 
Bodies move, hands venture,
The most fun she could ever have without laughing.
Foggy windows began to cry as warmth is born.
 
NAKED
 
Reality begins to fade back in,
Awake, senses heightening, introducing Normality The Antagonist.
She’s aware of surroundings now, but before was way better.
Maybe he’ll return, jog backwards, and come get her.
 
DREAMS.
He explores her bare body through hungry eyes.
Innocent urges of curiosity, concentration at its peak.
Skin is a beautiful organ of touch.
She knows this,
And so does he.
Casual persuasion; he undresses with nimble fingers.
Kissing her ribs and counting each one out loud.
Papers scatter now, these desks turn dirty.
No limitations on this journey.
Yielding to emotion – viewer discretion is advised.
Questioning nothing, he provides all her answers.
Sudden movement / static breathing.
In Out In Out
Addressing time in slow-motion.
Hours fade to noises.
Satisfaction is yummy.
Encouraging whispers tickle her eardrum; distinct smells of warmth echoing.
She’s getting lost in the ride, thrust forward then back again.
Sensations powered by a V8 engine.
Tan skin connects with pale – a color clash of outer ego.
Her bottom lip quivers uncontrollably; a shiver on steroids.
This feeling is so surreal.
Laments the Student:
Teach me bonus, man with power.
(We’ve only just begun.)
After school again, so comfortable in your presence here.
Energy flows to the toes, my muscles surrender to pleasure.
So young. So ALIVE.
Special attention, I want it / I crave it / I need it.
(You got it, you give it.)
Light this love on fire, one more time.
I fall submissive to the afterglow.
Loose + relaxed + excited + stimulated; all at once.
Challenging my senses, but I accept.
I’ve stumbled upon perfection today,
And just had to explain it.

I’m not sure why I called in the first place. You never pick up anyways.

I wish I could have x-ray vision. But for feelings. Then I wouldn’t hafta guess anymore. I’d actually fall asleep within ten minutes of hitting the pillow. I’d actually know what to expect in return when my mind gets to those clingy and obsessed stages. Fuck I hate those stages. I never had those stages before you came into my life. I actually hafta make myself not want you, or else yer all I think about.

I feel like I’m following Hansel and Gretel. But you’ve got all the clocks in the world on pause and an unlimited supply of bread crumbs. I’ll get to a curve in the path sometimes and loose track of the trail. He’ll come back for me, I tell myself, emotions shaky, confidence shakier. (The broken is the beautiful, right love?) But you never do. I’m left to find my bearings all alone in these creepy woods. The trees are always laced with unfulfilled needs and wants. The forest constantly reeks. Strong whiffs of could-have-been’s and I-wishes get trapped in the linings of my nostrils, even when I come across the crumbs again.

My need’s dominating my want tonight. That’s never good. Potential danger is no stranger when the need overrides the want. Shit gets ugly, attachments grow stale, and most of all, desire becomes a deceiving enemy. I find myself in an epic battle with that word. Not a bloody one, just a simple scuffle. A Looney Tunes chase, per say, where nobody gets hurt and everybody goes back to normal at the end. Me versus Desire. But not vice versa.

Just give me a compass of yer sensitive side. Please? I know you have one, I’ve seen it. I crave the man I used to spend endless hours on the phone with. Not just for a quick fuck either. There was meaning behind the words we exchanged. At least I thought there was. Or am I just lost in those woods again?

When I search for yer bread crumbs, I search everywhere. Sometimes for days. Being lost is no fun, especially in those woods. I’ll get to that breaking point where nothing seems to matter much anymore and giving up is inevitable. The wildlife are protagonists, I’ve learned. They wipe my tears away with gentle paws and tilt my head up so I have no choice but to connect watery blue pupils with them. Lacking the ability to speak with their mouths, they use their eyes.

It’s amazing how silent love can be. An infinite language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see. So powerful, so distinct. I sit there for what seems like forever, locking irises with these creatures of inspiration. Until finally, they’ll bat an eyelash and force me to break my gaze. Slowly, without missing a beat, they point in unison at a tiny piece of bread underneath a fresh pile of leaves. I must have overlooked this spot before, must have walked right past it. Then they disappear among the masses of trees before I can even thank them.

I dust my knees off quickly with both hands and recover from where I left off. I suppose you’ve forgotten about me by now though. It’s been too long, I don’t blame you. And I’m sure you don’t either. But yet I continue following this twisted path. I can’t help it. I’m stuck on this endless journey of undeniable lust and blind reactions. Why won’t you come back for me? I’m so sick of following. Be by my side this time, I need a hand. A man’s hand. My man’s hand.

When people laugh and ask me what I see in you, I simply tell them “everything you don’t.” I never lack courage here, and why would I? By loving me, yer teaching me how to love myself. Love is life, and if you miss love, you miss life. And I guess it’s so incredible to me because I’ve never felt it this strongly before. I’m high without smoke, without pills. Everything I do is so enhanced and brighter with you on my mind. It sounds so fucking cliche, too. But it’s….true? Yea, true.

So this is my life. And I just want you to know that I am both happy and sad, but I’m still trying to figure out how that can be.

Her eyes dance with passion, crosswords in the rain,
Shifting her body, it’s all just the same,
In out goes the water, it’s beginning to flood,
She tugs at her drawstring and pulls down her hood.
..
This feeling’s unforgiving, the pain she indures,
Secrets are just whispers, she wants so much more,
Trapped in a timeframe, a watch all alone,
To love is to freefall, and freefall she won’t.


Spokane, WA. 26 years young. Aquarius, of course. I am a very optimistic individual driven by passion and creativity. Music is my inspiration to everything. I dig the nightlife. I enjoy discovering new craft beers and breweries. I like animals more than humans. The ocean is amazing. I have no idea what I wanna do with my life and prolly never will. But I'm going to succeed because I'm crazy enough to think I can.
August 2017
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