Christ Forgives

There's a rope hanging from a pole.

I am captivated in the imprisonment of you world.

 Where hungry vultures try to eat at my neck. 

take a huge bite until I bleed out.

Red is their favourite colour. 

The saucy red gushes out of me after they are finished their orgasmic bite. 

See world from far I see your captivation, like the glisten of light in a little boys eyes when a hand offers him a piece of candy. 

When looking, he is almost positive that when biting in, the juicy sensations will tickle is mouth with joy as flavours rupture from cheek to cheek.  

Then world, when I look at you from a closer lens, I witness the true captivation.  

The tips of Charlie's fingers eventually decide to shake the hand of the scrumptious treat when, to his own surprise, he realizes there is a man under the candy,with his finger tips tightly gripped around his neck making indents so deep that when the boy's eyes close and his heart stops with no breath to be found,the red treat drops automatically to the floor.  

After the lustrous monster is finished with my flushed meaty flesh it begins to gnaw at my bones. 

Millimeter by millimeter the teeth dig in and bone shards go flying. After sucking on my remains, my soul falls onto the floor into a widespread puddle.  

It says, "world, I surrender".  

The world smiles at ease for the temptation of my weakness invites it to go deeper and deeper into me. 

My soul it's next mission.  

Mockery it's next battle tool.  

I notice the world's prison ceiling begins to shatter.

Plop goes one stone of neglect.  

Plop goes another stone of anger. 

Plop goes another stone of jealousy.  

All hitting my soul directly in the puddle.  

Ignites me to want more.  

When each temptation's stone falls into the water the darkness begins to crumble for the breaking of the prison ceiling brings light into the room.  

I look up to the sky and finally rationalize with Plato as I am blinded.  

I hear the words, "The person who has not sinned may cast the first stone"  

All of a sudden, the ceiling remains in tact.  

The light allowed the puddle to evaporate and the water particles of my soul instantaneously met with the light in the air.  

I rise up, up, up out of the world's cell, and into My Father's arms above. 

Ken

“Humans are by nature essentially self-interested” –Sigmund Freud

1) A meek or mild mannered man; a wuss, acting like you have no balls; no guts; no spine.
2) A male, overly attactive or primped, superficial, possibly straight, gay, bi or metrosexual. Also remenicent of a Ken Doll.

 The Ken doll can be perceived in two different lights. 

1) Your arm goes up only when my hand says so. Your right leg moves forward followed by your left only when I order you to walk to kiss your female companion because I know you two will live happily ever after. You have no voice and therefore you have no choice whether you want to marry Barbie. She’s pretty, smart, and has the best pink BMW of all the dolls in FAO Schwartz. Fortunately for you, you have no voice. You cannot talk back as your mouth remains shut while my hands control your every move of love, affection and care to meet my desperate needs for passion and excitement in my life. You are my entertainment. When I say ‘comfort me’, you better raise your tiny hand and jump into the Barbie playhouse as fast as you can or else I will hold a tantrum. I know you will, because you have no voice, no mind, and a soul that is willing to be damaged. You are Ken, and Ken you will be. So play with my hair, tell me I’m beautiful, and make sure everyone knows that I have the best man a girl can get: comforting, loving, kind, respectful, and controllable to my content. 

2) I felt your plastic arms wrap around me, they were so cold. Females did not play with you, you played with them.Even though our lips touched mine were real while yours were temporary. Yours got passed around from little girl to little girl all wanting a piece. Waiting their turn to get a glimpse of your beauty.Wanting to taste, waste their time. Your ego was so high I didn’t know how to break the concrete walls that towered above. Many tried to dive in. The only one’s allowed are the one’s who are not afraid to fall off. Taste the sweet sensation then swallow it only to expect poison. You are the doll my mom recently bought me so my girl Barbie with the pink ribbon in her hair would have a friend. However, just like any new toy, I played with you and got bored. Got bored of your perfect features and your attempt to convince to which seems like all the estrogen in universe that you were what an idealist would call flawless. I heard your mind screaming to come out of the concrete building your ego was holding up. It couldn’t. No matter what your mind tried to coordinate on paper, the thickness of your eyebrows, the sharpness of your jaw line, the cheap nothingness in your words which caressed the emptiness in my soul, told your mind freedom was not to be contemplated. When I got tired of you, my new and improved Ken doll, I realized that the building was of Octavian Augustus’ design. Pillaged, burned, adopted, and yet it still remained standing tall. Wounds inside that pass. You let them slide across your mind like the amount of thought it takes to ask your mother to pass the salt at the dinner table. The plastic consumes. The mind suffers. The plastic enjoys. 

I Am A Woman

I have hands.

Sweaty palms that can clench.

They pardon. Like the rage you are about to entail onto your father for snatching you away from that innocent,cute boy when you were 14.

They look at you with their eyes and say 'no heart, do not clench, but release'. Because you are a woman of weakness.

I have eyes.

Eyes that can close, close away from your loving voice and the smell of cologne that rushes through my nose into my brain telling me that your passion for this is comforting.

They open.

They open their heart to the uttering lie that is you. Like when your mom convinces you the dentist is not an evil man although you know it cannot be true.

I have a mouth.

A mouth that can tell you what lies under that firm chest: a confused heart.

The lips do not move. They stay closed for they are too shy to tell you your faults. Like telling your friend they have spinach in their teeth in the silence of a classroom presentation. Because I am a woman, a woman whose sticky tape is plastered to her pasty dry lips begging for moisture, not allowing me to tell you my longing for oxygen.

I have a heart.

A heart that seizes.

Seizes the moment you kiss my neck and make your mark.

This time, my distorted heart remains pumping.

Blood trickling through my tired veins.

Veins tired, exhausted of forcing my hands to remain pardoned, my eyes to pinch shut, my lips to fold the screeching screams inside of me, and my heart from seizing the anger I have for you.

Because I am a woman.