I hear your moans, low and feral. Like a cat lost to heat, you whine. I feel your rhythm, wine in a barrel. Aged like grace against the best whiskey line.
Confess. Redemption. The soul yearns. Heart, Space, and Time we share. My heart stolen by a thief with burns. Touched by your fingers, bare.
Sin Oh Father, I lay at your feet, heavy and foul. Repent in your name, protected and strong. Learn from the mistakes, I am sorry I cowl. Open your ears, forgive, respect the wrong.
Leave the bunny at home. I asked for the trusted Red Ryder BB GUN. “But you’ll shoot your eye out.” Nostalgia playing the dream on repeat. We choose guns as dreams. Our society fails to protect. Gun lobbying is prevalent. Who owns our politicians? Wear your badge of courage. New prompt. None needed. Tell Em to provide backup.
Me versus Me. Reverse. Rewind. Lamar. Hail Mary? ANCSA of 1971. Bring back Nixon! Bring gun reform! Let Red Ryder be buried. How did we end up in this place? Crooked cops? Framed civilians. War on drugs aka war on crack introduced into Black communities. Manifest Destiny. Let us rise! Oklahoma rising! Bring your responsible gun ownership to the show.
Leaving. The door bristles with the wind’s brush. Anti-hero? You tell me what? I am the way out the door when you verbal whip comes to play. I’m the problem. Why? I love love. I bleed for my fellow Americans. I bleed purple, the mixture of red and blue. We have to merge to diverge.
Tea? He didn’t fuck his patient. Should that not be enough? Tell you my secrets? Was it love? It was music. It was control. All in effort to get away? Where is our last dance? Discard me and travel. Alone at last.
Reader, I cannot tell you why I was too much for him. My problems? I carry them. My secrets? I carry them. The weight bearing down like the Dow Jones. Rain outside? Can I stay longer? I promise I will be quiet. Not! Sunshine bright, rain pouring through. Hand me the damn Umbrella RHI! Everything together. No more isolation. No more secrets. I choose connection. You choose you. I choose me. Perfection does not exist Wink.
Your sun. I want. Your treatment? I emailed you today. Ssh. Another secret to keep. To be a fly on this wall. The library walls bleed secrets.
His hands grip me. In my dreams. He calls to me with his dialect, foreign like 85% Cacoa to the tongue. Bitter and saliva producing. HE brings me love and comfort like a pair of well worn slippers by the fire.
The dream ends. Our love is an illusion, like Houdini with slight of hand. Always one step ahead Wink. I wish for sleep where our love aligns.
Labile and volatile, HE taught me discipline, structure, and privacy. We hold silent conversations because he taught me there is solitude in peace. In music. In art. He taught me to savor Basquiat’s colors. The neon highlighting the grotesqueness of police violence on Black communities. My love taught me to read Jay-Z’s Decoded. He teaches and takes away.
In cycles of wake, silence. Words that cut and leave me bleeding by the warmth of the fire. “Jessie, you get treatment or I leave.” An once unconditional love became tight with conditions. Distrust. Emotional check-ins highlighting my state of content and varying states of burning contempt. Silence wages on. Who breaks first in the Great Divide?
I chase sleep for release. Release from pressures of life waiting for the diamond to be purged. Sleep is the conduit to dreams. In sleep, I find escape from my inner dialogue full of self-criticism. I chase sleep for peace.
The fires burn. The beast rages. Protect. Proect the neck. Protect the hands of such poise and grace. HE is why WE Fight. He held our sin, so we could fall. In love? In lust? No more secrets. Reach for what you yearn. Learn. As long as you are breathing, you are fighting.
Taylor? Our CITY IS BURNING. OUR CITY of GOD. The soldiers await YOUR direction. Romeo? Yes. No sneaking. Love openly. No one’s secret. Scarlet letter is not something I choose. Not your princess. Your devil. With my OWN WINK. I know my fight song. I have been writing for months. Amor. My love. Dedicated to me, our children. Our love story is one of ages. Youth captured.
LULA. Loss. CITY OF GOD knows grief, bereavement. Loss? NOT THE SENATE. Allred? Win it. Beat CRUZ. TESTER run away. Brown? Cape on? Harris and Walz, we win. We celebrate. In HIS name only. We need his Glory, his Love. HE does not WANT him, but he LOVES him.
Die with a smile. Your LOVE CARRIES me Wink.
