A little more about myself.

"The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create -- so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating."

-Pearl S. Buck

 

thank you thank you thank you…

My Wardrobe

I have changed attire and dismantled- no wrecked my model life.

I have changed shades and form.

My old skin is folded to be donated.

There is not an ounce of “fun” that I seek or remember.

My wardrobe has changed.

My fun is less fun and more joy.

The colors of Monday are no longer black and Friday no longer sits

on plush velvet fabrics in ivory dens.

All days are beautiful and no time is taboo.

Friday is not for debauchery and neither is Tuesday.

My good time remains not in clubs and bars-for they act as such.

Bars before my reward and a club to my head.

Show me a bar without a fight.

Show me a man without false pride.

Show me a human that does not lack self-love.

Introduce me to a woman who is not a cunt.

My heart at spring.

Tonight it is spring.

The time of mourning my dead flesh, mind, and heart is short this year.

On this night spring is here- at the dead of winter.

Tonight a breeze meanders between my legs during the widest steps.

It follows as I look skyward to see vibrant palms and trees- they quiver with my pleasure.

Framed by a clear violet sky they appear as grand paper silhouettes; black.

They gauge the nearness of the stars.

I aspire.

aspire.

aspire.

I do lose my focus- the stars are nearer than my palms.