afterbirth
She is an absent importance. she must not be forgotten, because she let you in once. she is a woman and she must be remembered as such, a strong tree, the tripwire that face-planted you into reality. she was lost and now you are found. everyone forgets her, she has daddy issues. but thats not important now; she must not be allowed to be a faded sign on a forgotten route, an unsolved mystery, an unturned lock. she knows how to be woman, she does not know how to be put in your place. she knows herself, she is her own mirror. but her thoughts confuse her, the cogs of her clock need oil, she cant make something out of too much, or nothing. these things are hard for her.
she is a red dress, a strong perfume, she must make her presence on this earth known, and you must tell her how it affected you. a word is a word is NOT just a word. it is not just you for her. But you are a side-affect, an accident of truth, a startling realization, a shining spider web across her path. she could have tore you down, and kept on hiking, like she had done to them. but she won't. she will lean back on it until it aches with the burden, but she will not stop. it wouldnt be her, it wouldnt be authentic. she loves to be authentic. she loves to challenge. she is the bone that holds her own heart up. it grew there out of necessity, but one day she won't need it anymore. until then she sweats with the effort it demands of her.
no one will tell her she speaks the beautiful word, that she makes the lasting impression. that her fever hangs on the air like a humid day and makes you dizzy. your words are not for her, they never were. you called her a thing that comforts; you hurt her feelings. She wants the powerful thing, the passionate one. you are not a chancy game of tetris but a beautiful puzzle with rounded edges that she can admire. she feels like the chancy game, as you do, and you fit inside each other. she is too intense, she collided with you because she was sick of the dance; she needs stimulation. life didn't want to step around you two any more, so it shifted and you fell into her. she didn't want you to get lost, to become a Nothing. she feels her innocence and maintains it, but understands your hurt. you washed over her like a warm rain, the best kind, the kind you wait for when you feel the humidity crack and the sky mount its tension. you slithered up her spine, and danced in her chest until you found the heart-bone. she left you there for too long. she won't do it again. she is an equal-opportunity employer, a servant for the tired and lonely. she gives what she recieves and doesnt complain. she knew she loved you, and she let it push her around, make her sane and insane. her intensity was a freak-show. she is learning your language though; she is very good at languages. she plays your word games, talks your jokes, and loves every minute of it. just as she loves every inch of your Being. not like body as being, cuz she doesnt think like that. she knows she is the meaning-making machine she used to fear, but fear is the heart of love. so she is not afraid of fear. of nothing. of anything.
she is a red dress, a strong perfume, she must make her presence on this earth known, and you must tell her how it affected you. a word is a word is NOT just a word. it is not just you for her. But you are a side-affect, an accident of truth, a startling realization, a shining spider web across her path. she could have tore you down, and kept on hiking, like she had done to them. but she won't. she will lean back on it until it aches with the burden, but she will not stop. it wouldnt be her, it wouldnt be authentic. she loves to be authentic. she loves to challenge. she is the bone that holds her own heart up. it grew there out of necessity, but one day she won't need it anymore. until then she sweats with the effort it demands of her.
no one will tell her she speaks the beautiful word, that she makes the lasting impression. that her fever hangs on the air like a humid day and makes you dizzy. your words are not for her, they never were. you called her a thing that comforts; you hurt her feelings. She wants the powerful thing, the passionate one. you are not a chancy game of tetris but a beautiful puzzle with rounded edges that she can admire. she feels like the chancy game, as you do, and you fit inside each other. she is too intense, she collided with you because she was sick of the dance; she needs stimulation. life didn't want to step around you two any more, so it shifted and you fell into her. she didn't want you to get lost, to become a Nothing. she feels her innocence and maintains it, but understands your hurt. you washed over her like a warm rain, the best kind, the kind you wait for when you feel the humidity crack and the sky mount its tension. you slithered up her spine, and danced in her chest until you found the heart-bone. she left you there for too long. she won't do it again. she is an equal-opportunity employer, a servant for the tired and lonely. she gives what she recieves and doesnt complain. she knew she loved you, and she let it push her around, make her sane and insane. her intensity was a freak-show. she is learning your language though; she is very good at languages. she plays your word games, talks your jokes, and loves every minute of it. just as she loves every inch of your Being. not like body as being, cuz she doesnt think like that. she knows she is the meaning-making machine she used to fear, but fear is the heart of love. so she is not afraid of fear. of nothing. of anything.