Vulgar Screams or The Want of Kind Things

Vulgar Screams or The Want of Kind Things

I need you I need you I need you.
The words, so crude, so overused.
All the unknown things these words carry.
Unknown intentions behind the exchange of these words.
Not meaning, not definition.
Formless, headless, anonymous.
It is what we attach to it that makes it-
For all of us.
Trauma from growing up in a family, or with out a family, or under a blue sky,
Or under a grey sky,
In the city, in the village, everywhere.
Or without a pot to piss in.
Or singing in the street scenes.
Passerbys passing time.
I need you I need you.
Overused and exploited, it hates our tongue,
and hates our word forming mouth.
Nonetheless, we press forward, screaming, crying, humming,
I need you I need you I need you...
I needed him.
A voice cries out...in the wilderness, in the distance
in the dark night of my soul.
I press my face and pull down on the skin,
My face is coming off...my face is falling off.
You've cut me off, as a time before, you did.
I didn't make the cut.
I get it. I wasn't good enough.
I'm a bad girl.
I'm verocious in the night.
My paws are dirty...my coat is matted.
I'm meowing in the the darkness.
I'm crying in the darkness.
Why am I so sick? Why do I hold fast to this degradation.
Pick him up, pick him up,
praise him like a baby in the sun.
In the sun you took my love, you thrusted inside my belly
in the wide open park, for everyone to see...
Let them see you said.
You took my love that day,
You had that love for days.
But your heart can't trust. Your heart never trusted.
How can one become trusted by he that never trusts?
Never took the first step,
Somewhere, some way back day, young laughter and a mother's embrace.
I am mother of tides,
I am moon drawing waves,
I am sturdy and alone, betrothed to the sea.
And you are him, knight of my dreams…
Or perhaps, more like a beast prowling after sunset.
I'm not your princess when I kick and scream.
But I'm the wrong compartment,
The wrong component. I don’t fit.
You know it so.
I'm more of a jagged edge,
a mountain ridge.
Crows scream my name in deep forest clearings.
I sing to myself,
I talk to myself,
I look dazedly into the mirror.
I have a temper,
I have a broken heart,
My letters are still on the shelf,
The garbage needs to be taken out...
But I am real, and deep, and full of soft palettes,
The need for pale greens and pink rouge.
The want of kind things.