Confidence Poker

The edges and beyond are the same as a dense ladder into herenow and they sound like OM which rhymes with home.

I am a priestess of the second degree,

but first I’m an explorer.

“Alyssa,

show. Don’t tell.”

But I split my personality for you.

You said you didn’t ask me to,

but there are things I can’t reveal to you,

for the only outcome I see is negative.

You hide the shame beneath a thick pillow,

or is it my lack of confidence?

They say it’s a Pisces thing, to identify with the everything.

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Brainstorming Rap

Okay, focus:

the attention is on you lis, you can do this,

talk about being a mistress with a wet kiss.

Envision this:

He calls me mistress,  while he’s bent over

double, knows he’s in trouble, looking at me

like “excuse me, please use me.”

And I think why this is taboo-zie,

See,

I can’t whine about her influence,

I’ve already forgiven this,

trying to give me the legacy, of

“be pretty, please”, “speak when you’re spoken to”.

See,

Us ladies have been banished to the red tent,

to hide our temperament,

to be agreeable, a godsend.

See,

The Goddess isn’t all light and love,

passive and foreseeable, she’s the fly born in the dead skin crevice of a dried bottom lip, the deepest dip

and darkest dive.

Smick-smack you up, when you look above, and out around,

Smile, nod your head, “it’ll be okay in the end”,”everything is as it should be. You will see”.

But it’s never the end, it’s “next time”, or “later.” You won’t transcend your body quick enough to ever escape space and time,

so you might as well rhyme,

and kiss me,

blissly.

To get ahead

of desperation in the race,

turn around,

and fuck my face.

“Oh, no, I’m almost at the bridge now”…

“I forgot, how ‘m I ‘sposed to send this shit out?”

Oh, it’s the internet so I can keep flowing,

keep going, and talk about craving a reality,

a different she.

So close I can smell it, taste it,

we can do it differently.

It’s not just me,

teasing, believing,

cure for the linear curse,

or a tubular well,

we can’t make it worse,

eternal life bombshell.

 

 

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Word Vomit

There are water drops pouring off the side

of a blue velvet blanket,

and I’m cuddling the kitten,

to remind myself.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I feel more human than I’ve ever felt,

so flawed, destructible…

I thought I was headed towards a greater strength,

but I suppose the muscles need to be worked

in order to tear and grow,

to gain resiliency.

I wanted to give myself away again today,

but I got dissed in return.

A lesson I’m sure,

for I’m sitting here ruminating,

destroying myself further,

trying to refine what I’m looking for.

I’ve made such a mess,

is this why no one wants to revisit their 20’s?

This word vomit is a metaphor,

for my life and it’s mistakes thus far.

Be broken open, fall apart,

in order to grow strong.

Follow “mad strife”,

pain as a teacher,

comfort in the uncomfortable.

I’ve done it again, gone and

mucked it up.

I wonder when I’ll learn.

The lessons keep adding up.

I look to my heroes,

the writers at the bar,

dying for their art.

Did I take love for granted?

Those who loved me best.

He told me he spoiled me

for all the rest.

Can you understand why I need

to know my worth?

He told me my problem is

that I feel I need to prove myself,

to prove I’m worthy, to have

something to point to.

And it’s true.

I’ve made an identity out of helping you.

But let’s be clear,

I’m in it to help myself.

I am who I am,

thickly guarded,

shaking when vulnerable.

I didn’t think I could be used,

I didn’t think anyone could be with me

without loving me.

But I see now~

it’s easy to have sex with someone,

it’s much harder to build something up,

and expose our insides.

It’s scary because we don’t know how they look,

they are unedited without expression.

I’m relatively out of control,

striving to find a way back home,

following the steps I’ve been led to take,

hoping my life isn’t one grand mistake,

trying to find the me inside,

by looking at how I hide.

Looking at how I’ve manipulated others,

told them how to see me instead of being myself.

He told me there’s no point anymore,

for a man to keep trying,

once he’s been inside.

Once you’ve given away the power,

given it to another.

I want something so elusive

I can’t taste it.

I want love,

I want to embrace this

process of Descension

into the emotional maelstrom

I’ve often hid from.

A taste of my own medicine,

playing with emotions,

I think this is one of those days,

I will remember for a long time.

Calcined to char,

again,

values and beliefs

torched to pieces.

Will I ever get to enjoy this?

He says it gets easier.

There’s no avoiding pain.

I am transformed by everybody

I come into contact with.

Each time it’s happened,

I come back and look

at my self-serving actions,

what is it I’m living for?

When will it feel right?

When will I not feel like this,

and when will I learn

to avoid melodrama, to live happily?

 

 

 

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