She held her pieces in her hands
The way that only broken can
Looking up with pleading eyes
“Help me make it through the night”
When the last one broke her tether
She put herself back together
Looking in with beauty bold
She painted in the cracks with gold
Learning not to be afraid
Understanding what life has made
She holds herself in her hands
And no one needs to understand
Who wouldn’t want me
But I’m not a cup of tea
Something like honey
I want to say he missed out. I want to say how can you not want a girl that would crawl across the floor and suck your cock like she was praying to a god?
Eh…it probably wasn’t that good. It’s been a while. I need to find someone to practice on.
But people click or they don’t. I’ve never been one to console myself with “wow did you miss out”. How can you miss out on something you didn’t want to begin with? It takes a minute to get the soap out of your hair when it burns your eyes though.
An old story. Everyone has to start somewhere though. It’s erotica so not for children or the easily offended.
I think we know what we want from time to time, but it’s hard to figure out what we need. I find it in the failures. There’s little bits of lesson in there. It’s like stripping the paint off a piece of furniture to find the beauty of the natural wood…especially when there’s a few years of misuse built up.
I post here periodically when I have a new poem to share and I get noticed which is amazing. Sadly my writing comes in very short bursts like the occasional broken water line. I try to function within the ordances of a broken government most of the time I guess. It makes my momentary inspirational moments seem more like malfunctions. That needs to change. I have a few readers and maybe one of them will point me in the right direction. I need a reading community to critique my work so I can formerly submit it for publication. Obviously I am willing to reciprocate. Below is the seventy-five hundred word short story that started it all. I wrote it from the point of view of a girl, but I was so intrigued by the creature (for lack of a better word) that I kept writing. I have a whole world now that includes one “finished” book, one that is almost finished, and plans for 8 more books. I need my tribe though.
Beware. It is dark erotica and definitely not for the young or fragile (emotionally or otherwise).
The more broken the pieces
The smaller the moments
In which you live
She was always pretty
Though no one seemed to want her
Then she dressed in love