Here it is
Loose leaf
Shake it out short!
Only got yourself
To blame
For the purge, or the strain
The first brew
Baby I’m back
It cannot be reclaimed; the timeline, on a sloping line, gathers momentum. On reflection, I do best – what could have, should have been. The roads I’ve traveled or traveled away from. Once without boundaries, easily crossed and turning pages of this daily journal. I could change direction. It was easy. Not so easy anymore. The load is not light, the bones are growing weary. The muscle aches from memory. Too late now, to throw one’s head back and think about the wavering course. I am not Lot’s Wife. Will not be Lot’s Wife: less my heart turn to stone. We shall never truly know, shall we?
I am ripe, sometimes raw
Wanting to say it loudly and badly, foul mouth
but wouldn’t want to offend, or let it catch in the wind
Lest my manners be compromised.
I am narly, stalking hot bed, hormonal disposition unto the world
Wouldn’t dare express it, a Chinese whispered kiss, never ending, ever-changing
Lust! How dare!
I am childish, spiteful. Give me what I want, when I want it, don’t judge.
Bitch.
I am boring. Really, simply, plainly, nothing of interest. Nothing to pique.