Lamenting or Self Pity

Glistening eyes wide as happiness
spread up from my toes.
Raced through my legs, heart, beyond and left
a trail of bumps, butterflies, smiles.

Frustrating, fleeting flashes to a time when warmth
spread fully to my breasts and fingertips.
Gasping, glaringly grand moments strung together
in a series of ever growing distance.
Desperate now to feel that tingling, teasing heat
once, at least completely.
Experience and maturity snatch and siphon
tiny degrees of bliss a year at a time.

Chaos and Life

I expected all these moments like numbers in a row.
Orderly and predictable, a steady even flow.
I've been placed in situations, and despite any fault,
lessons of pained enlightenment which my experience wrought.
Self pity is a cloak of shame; weighted, but I move on.
Cup in hand, sifting seas for order.  Hoping it's not gone.

Burning Boxes

Walk, talk, exist with
grace, purpose, delicacy, strength, class, harmony,
charm, tact, tenderness, respect.
Don't be bashful, forceful, silent, intrusive, argumentative, or loud.
A perfect resume for a navigator through oxymorons
on a precipice in heels with a hammer.
Work, but not too much.
Play, but not too much.
Feel, but not too much.
Have sex, but not too much.

Just let me be!

We are called earth, nature.
Our hearts crumble like coals
because magma runs through our veins
and burns your worthless boxes.