prose: out of character, subject: relevant
Dam, I am in love! Strange in my own skin,
Cuz I am me, yet I'm not what I've been:
A riot girl on the downtown scene,
The mother of my mind, a Trampoline,
Who bounced into the tapas bar of lust
And came out screaming more, her palate flusht.
But now, to be a nervous, quiet girl,
Whose only question is 'Will my bangs curl?'
Or 'will he look at me?' or 'will he ask?'
Or 'should I swear?' or 'does he like my laugh?'
Love? O, love's an artificial sweetener,
Always old and yet sixteen forever,
A tigerbeat, a soggy note to Sassy,
A heavy heart that sighs, "o, I am empty,'
A kitten that can't sleep or move or eat,
And craves a letter sweater in her heat!
O, how can I love, accept dependency,
Put a v-chip on my eccentricity,
Strap on the straight-jacket fidelity,
And drowning in the phlegm of normalcy,
Lie down to drown in chocked monogamy.
And, worse than worst, it is hypocrisy!
I am weak, I sumit, O, I give in,
And to a man? More like a mannequin,
Born stiff, putting on, all but what you see,
Yet still t oo stiff to see that he's a dummy!
And I adore of these the most devoid?
Were style wealth, a beggar be that Boyd,
Speaking sibillant syllables round his word,
And, no doubt, dipping deepish undeterred.
But still, he is a boy in action made,
As milk is milkt, lip lipt, as plays replayd,
So I am psycht to relive May dismayed,
To pass from boys to Boyd, to be his one,
To lose at loving's game of zero sum.
In playing love, the more you try to not
Commit, the more commitment tries your thought,
And from progressive freedom you digress,
Compulsion posing as impulsiveness
Cuz though love is a lie, denying desire,
In this distortion I am most like nature:
Light? Prismization. Matter? Fabrication.
Gravity? Persuasion. Growth? Exaggeration!
Every body acts as if it's special,
Yet every creature is a cannibal,
As cow-headed man kills man-headed cow,
In an ever-ending, meat-eating now.
So, lying to be true to what I am,
Let others love themselves; I love my man.
Cuz I am me, yet I'm not what I've been:
A riot girl on the downtown scene,
The mother of my mind, a Trampoline,
Who bounced into the tapas bar of lust
And came out screaming more, her palate flusht.
But now, to be a nervous, quiet girl,
Whose only question is 'Will my bangs curl?'
Or 'will he look at me?' or 'will he ask?'
Or 'should I swear?' or 'does he like my laugh?'
Love? O, love's an artificial sweetener,
Always old and yet sixteen forever,
A tigerbeat, a soggy note to Sassy,
A heavy heart that sighs, "o, I am empty,'
A kitten that can't sleep or move or eat,
And craves a letter sweater in her heat!
O, how can I love, accept dependency,
Put a v-chip on my eccentricity,
Strap on the straight-jacket fidelity,
And drowning in the phlegm of normalcy,
Lie down to drown in chocked monogamy.
And, worse than worst, it is hypocrisy!
I am weak, I sumit, O, I give in,
And to a man? More like a mannequin,
Born stiff, putting on, all but what you see,
Yet still t oo stiff to see that he's a dummy!
And I adore of these the most devoid?
Were style wealth, a beggar be that Boyd,
Speaking sibillant syllables round his word,
And, no doubt, dipping deepish undeterred.
But still, he is a boy in action made,
As milk is milkt, lip lipt, as plays replayd,
So I am psycht to relive May dismayed,
To pass from boys to Boyd, to be his one,
To lose at loving's game of zero sum.
In playing love, the more you try to not
Commit, the more commitment tries your thought,
And from progressive freedom you digress,
Compulsion posing as impulsiveness
Cuz though love is a lie, denying desire,
In this distortion I am most like nature:
Light? Prismization. Matter? Fabrication.
Gravity? Persuasion. Growth? Exaggeration!
Every body acts as if it's special,
Yet every creature is a cannibal,
As cow-headed man kills man-headed cow,
In an ever-ending, meat-eating now.
So, lying to be true to what I am,
Let others love themselves; I love my man.