Fractures in Her

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[-Lost & Found Poetry: written March 2013-]

Stumbling too long, I fell behind, most aqua airsign’s
(proclaimed devine)
Standing tall somewhere in that nowhere waiting place.
A sparkle of illusive charm, bound lips and panther’s eyes
– ” What a bitch.” They hissed
“Must have an ego as high as the sky, I know I would.”

She had, clipped wings, injured bird, fallen from grace
I liked her that way.
Disposed diamonds and disregarded will.

piecing together time, stitching fabricated courage
None could vindicate this breakage.
Don’t hold your breath for any inkling of eloquence, my mistakes I wear on my sleeve
Where my heart used to live.

look through me as if i am your illusion
in idle desperation.
Projecting an image, I too wish I could be.
Maybe we are the same, each random splatter of paint,
mixed and muddy
in to a indecipherable shade of bedlam pandemonium

For now
I am unable to rise, to face the sun with a straight face
but I digress

I am a patient woman.

-applecat

The Scholar

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I am a soft cover novel
There are riddles written on my skin
I wonder
as the wine flows
will you raise a toast
and cheers to the ghost of me

And in life’s moments of quiet reflection
I note
Each trepidatious goose bump
Sprouts a tiny feather
Each inquisitive curve in my brow
A creaking bow, pulling further back

Capacity stretched,
at times I strain for breath.
Life pulses, pressing hard against my sternum.
Teeth bared they smile and bend down
A whisper extended, a brazen vow to behold
this unfurling truth.

In the midst of all this happening,
I am unraveled
Yet i am bound
I am awash at sea, swimming in observation

I am learning.

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I am a feast,
of which voracious wolves encircle
their patient palates
wet with desire
I sanctify, yet am not sanctified
this recovered wildness
bares no resemblance to ferality
tangled and gnarled, my roots go deep
I nourish
whisper unto me your toil


I felt it
this tired bodies fire
across from the expanse of hell
a breath calls out
unyielding, tenacious
Its weary abandon
aghast at my chosen landscape.
porcelain collapse, I am naked under all this
burdensome armor chafing my bones
I feel no fear here


I recall
piercing rabid eyes
and encompassing heart
a revolutionaries past,
brought forth, resurrected
memories of shed skins, haphazard fortuitous encounters
branded into my DNA
with tension and a bitten lower lip.
this happenstance
cannot be claimed


So then
when these times go asunder
allegiance
rapping at the door of your soul,
Don’t conclude he is so sinister.
I will herald a new age every twilight
and you can take the dawn
these bodies earned and bones reset
undone
in all your glory


dethrone the mask,
show me
your passions authoritative gaze
my sheathe for the lascivious nobleman;
tentative in his gaze, unravel me
arms flung open
I uncover your secret wings
in-between all of the honour
we soar
entwined & unabashed

– AppleCat

Could you love a Woman?

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Could you love a woman?
2:30 am, lips laden stained with red wine
drunk on prose and sound
dancing between the lines of social contradiction
an introverted observer and yearned to be more
the shadow she casts, she prefers to live in
yet on a stage she’s choosing to cherry pick the best hiding spots
crafting masks out of flesh and song, authentic expression mitigated and diluted from fear of being “too much”

Could you love a Woman?
4:30pm, as the day grows old and grey
her mind is clouded with love, with grief
hidden in the crevasses of the psyche, because
the hurt is too much, she fades and feels it all – person by person by person
this; the seed of a weary impediment, I know you will get tired, of the “I’m sorry’s”
the universal ache to which she has willingly married her self
Is it possible to hold affection to a heart encumbered with fragility, could it be that one could situate themselves so regenerative and inclined?

Could you love a Woman?
10:00am rolling out of bed, a broody vessel
dreams still chaperoning her thoughts, for this she believes she is poison
you wonder, if every kiss she writes out
illustrated intricately with adjectives, is yours
that maybe the mysterious “he” she scribbles to
each evening, could perhaps -even in part- represent you
the speculated “he” – are they even a person at all? But perhaps something much more. An unspoken whisper trickling down fingers tip.

Could you love a Woman?
5:30am still awake, still wondering
flooded with stories and gathered emotion
sleep cut ever short, a curious linguists mental incision
wit sharp, eyes wide, from all the soul she hides inside
slumber remaining still an elusive bitch
teasing heavy eyes with the threat of time’s finite grasp
in the morning perhaps it would have never happened at all, yet something still is changed nevertheless.

Could you love a Woman?
25:00am – the 25th hour, her secret place of refuge
a visceral exhale, in a time of gasping palpitation
kind eyes, a primal and fierce embrace signals yours
teeth and bone, tussling tongues – words are finally released
bound by medley, perplexed by human expectation
in a whirl it is liberated, set free and let to roam, wild as she – as you may well be
this is a time, a sanctuary in a momentless in-between, for a brave and clever one that could love a Woman such as “She”

– AppleCat

A Love Letter to Erotica Electronica

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Poetry is a selfish lover. A Bratty Princess.
She rolls over, at all hours – regardless of where I am, what I am working on, or whom I am working on – and she demands to be to be pleasured.

But – when I desire pleasure? inspiration? Like perhaps to ignite in writing my passion and adoration for each of you and these gatherings she replies

“ooooh sorry applecat, I have a headache – can I offer you a haiku? or a limerick even? that will do I am sure”

No, Poetry – a haiku will not do, not for the each of them – not for the dance we together weave.

Thankfully Poetry, -like me- is a voracious switch, and to evoke her submission all you have to do is own it Alpha Wolf style.

“Poetry you naughty little bitch!”

I command.

“I. Am. Your. Mistress. Roll over this instant and fuck me, fill me up with your LUSTFUL musings – for you are mine and I am yours, and with respect I demand you fuck me this instant”

and so with a sly and subby grin, as if that was her plan all along – fill me up she did.

And so, my love letter to Erotica Electronica

There are so many nights
left as blurs, memories of a memory
so many names I claimed to know, faces shifting into one another
some would have called me a shameless slut, others an empowered wanderer
But tonight, I will remember,
as you dance, fingers brushing against skin,
penetrative song, and teeth digging further in
I will revel in each orgasm, post party – regardless if I were there or not
Because tonight, the many are one.

This mask, his mask, her mask, their mask
all these masks to mask our truth, each a delicately crafted work of art,
each a facet of ourselves we choose illuminate
Masks of MULTIPLICITY,
you are not alone in your dark duality, wanton whispers as wet LIPS swell and part
by my MOUTH remands SHUT
Tried on, worn well
cookie cutter paper maiden, slide on, slide in – and out again – smeared over intense expression
Tied tightly, taken off
thrust hard against a wall of rebounding breath, face exposed, fairy tale
ravaged and unveiled

I see you, KIND OF HOLY, and A LITTLE PROFANE – together we gather, naked and BRAZEN – masks deemed obsolescent

you
Undress me with your eyes, dance as I pry you open
imagine lips between your thighs
like animals – teeth and bone, ivory and pink tissue dripping
this salacious carnality tastes like music
and perhaps, just perhaps
thats enough

I
with this found connection, our collective synchropation
half devoured,I slip deeper
into you,
SATIATING, with these secret SOUNDS
quivering in anticipation I BESEECH,
WITHIN this TANGLED orgy of MELODIES
drink me,
love this,
and I will be your slave

So hello tribe
I have mostly come to define you, by my bewildered inability to define you
So please, let whisper these songs to you
The carnal, earnest rage of BASS swelled in hot crescendos across my throat, beneath my ribs, guided by passion
each crafted sound, penetrating your ear, and body with a kind but fierce thrust
I’ll deliver each beat as my coveted discipline
for seeping from my every pore, is an arousing score
the bass and violin, making music of my sin

ah, may it be so that we mount and ride these deep sensual sounds into revolution

I would sip every drop of lust
From the expanse of our souls
back arched in ecstasy
body aching for the barest of touch
For sadistic as I am, how could I possibly be so cruel
to deny you the collective and cosmic climax you crave so much?

In this wild and broken world, you my loves – are both my comfort zone and my edge

The Music will play
Skin on skin, muscles clenching, bodies drenched.
beats are moaned, whimpered and sighed.
with every bar, each cavort grows more intense.
Harder and faster, throbbing, we delight in the ache, squirm and spiral -until-

FUCK

dramatically it crests, gasping, we collapse and fade into afterglow,
– and that is the true love letter yet to be played, and these are the songs of lustful adoration about to be told.

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These creatures circle , a slow approach to courtship

Primal remembrance
tongues shed their literacy
their robes to follow

her clinical observation, deemed obsolete

daring to go deep
a quivering reluctance
to love, thrust aside

This Collision consisting of startling Wonder

Memory’s shadow
mirrored their lips, and parted
holy and profane

Sensuality’s story frothing at the brim

Lust’s salt on their skin
fingernail trails leading home
a heartbeat conjoined

Desire immortalized in times finite embrace

him

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from which I was crafted,
I will keep writing of love, as long as love is alive in me
I have far before my time, and will far after

Listen –

As the dust cues to our catastrophic cosmic connection
Visceral and utterly pleated
into my live’s mythology

the enormity of our hearts unified pulse, penetrating deeply
it ploughs hard and fills me up,
bringing my lust into fruition, swimming in sex
the eros we share
thick and dripping down our mortal coil

The Kata to my Kali

relishing in Water’s adversarial love affair
with fires smouldering gaze – enraptured in their consequential vapour
a thousand years they’ve practiced
for this one short lifetime
a chance to do it right

beyond war & flame
beyond monarchy & botched revolution

He of whom meets my fierce gaze with an infectious softness
– together we birth an air of wild kindness
He of whom claims my bastard body as if it were royalty
– together we sow a sprouted flesh and rooted noble sensuality
He of whom scoured my landscape and unearthed a petrified heart
– together we revisioned two sovereign wanderers into a king and queen inservice to life.

Life pulses in gratitude, whispering a brazen promise to behold us & our enchanting truth.

most days
we are requisitioned by the world,
other days
our worlds capacity is stretched by life
and betwixt it all,
he is my world – small, quiet and serene, a refuge in the in-between

In the midst of our happening,
I am undone
to him, i pledge a loyalty to love and all it’s iterations
to him, I vow to christen myself in desire
to him, and to him in totality

I entrust my surrender.

Romance is…

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Romance is dusty Museums on a weekday; when no one is present but the each of you and the ghosts of yesterday

Romance is salacious snail mail in a world of paper bank statements and lackadaisical sext messages

Romance is epicurean delights hand picked to satiate each imploring taste bud, alternatively romance is also a culinarily illiterate yet good intentioned burnt meal

Romance is Sound and Dance. Together surrendering to the vibrational awakening of primal memory that audio stimulation and somatic movement invoke.

Romance is conscious flesh, each peaked sense arousing another – a domino effect of pleasure without shame or story holding them back

Romance is voraciously mind fucking while voyeuristically instigating the age-old courtship between intellect and creativity

Romance is drawn out road-trips to ambiguous destinations, worn out albums, the wind on your skin, and curious adventure on your heartstrings

Romance bends the rules

Romance is a Forever, a single serving delight – and everything that lays in between. Romance in it’s trueness is allowed to flow naturally.

Romance is a handmade art-piece.

Romance is collectively making a fundamental difference, combining combustible passions and alchemically crafting palpable meaning. It is being together for more of a purpose than just your togetherness.

Romance is time made sacred.

Romance in an age of constant information is eye contact, intention, and series of non verbal connections.

Romance is giggling uncontrollably.

Romance is subjective; the art of listening and seeing – and in turn allowing yourself to as well be listened to and seen.

Romance is tailor-made unconventionalism – against the grain and perfectly custom to each others unique tastes.

Romance is the concurrence of continued growth.

Romance is the willingness to Love fiercely and authentically; without old stories, oppression or fear.

Romance is a flower unpicked.

– AppleCat

Art Credit: http://fav.me/d9t87ke

the heavy hearted ache

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Today I write with a heavy heart, as the internet has reminded me (right on schedule) that the world is really fucked up – and in a plethora of ways.

Our world, our us, our humanity. What does that word even mean? Humanity.

I have grounded myself into a place where I will not let the narcissistic self loathing of our times consume me, I will not let it convince me I am so tiny that I cannot make a difference; that I should just simmer in apathetic and easy complacency.
More and more I am coming to realize that what is “easy” is not simple, and what is simple is far from easy.

But it hurts so much, and somedays I yearn to feel that apathy, I crave to understand the languish places of which so many of us have landed. The state of being that allows people to live each day in a place where heartache has been abandoned.
Because damn this pang is raw, like a thousand indignant marchers grabbing my at throat, despite the lack of recollection of why they had began marching to begin with. Like the tainted oxygen surrounding us leaving my breath short, my own womb mirrors that of our Earth’s – rumbling, twisting and lurching with sediment.
The pang is raw with consumption; a woman trespassed and sold, a pig tagged and bled, water bottled and resold. As if the culprit could see any difference between the three.
Eat. eat. eat.

We live in a time where eye contact is shunned, connection to our adversaries, our lovers, our food. Shunned. The intimate courtship of love, sex and death – a fading art. A sin even.
For years we arrive and depart from inside each other, thrusting in and out. Flesh against flesh, in a desperate reach towards feeling anything at all. Uncontemplative copulation, contact without contact. Climax without Orgasm.

I see anguish, hatred, war, and poison. I see suffering, in a world that advocates killing but refuses to acknowledge that death exists as anything but an affliction. I see all that is natural, all that is us, being crucified and resurrected, wrapped in plastic and artificially manufactured by emaciated milky eyed children younger than my own.
And then sold back to us; lacquered, sterilized. For our safety.

That blasted blanket statement of a word, Safety. I do not feel safe in this world, and I would be brazen in assuming that neither do you. Yet I harbour such a huge fucking adoration for this little blue marble, despite that ever-present same ache threatens to consume me. When I saturated in it’s darkness I cannot help but imagine and skirt on understanding the actions of political self immolation – because this fire under my skin threatens to ignite. The fire of passion, what a fearsome tool to behold.
I am angry, and I am scared, I am in pain but more so than anything I still am so damn in that love. With you, with all of this, or rather what all of this could be; and if I could I would turn it off, but that didn’t work before and it certainly wouldn’t work now. A tidal rush of intensity breaking down the makeshift dam of indifference. Wild hearts do not take well to being confined.

So I cannot go on, yet I continue on because anything else would be a lie – tiresome and meager. I am broke but not broken, I am female bodied but not weak, I am invisible in the eyes of the government but prominent in the eyes of my peers, and this pushes me to go on, even though by all means of logic I cannot.
Logic, safety, ache. These are all subjective. And every day for the past week the eagles have been circling my house, a bat sputtered around my home in graceful disarray, and a finch died quietly in my hands. I watched my daughter sing joyfully on stage, my house later this evening will be filled with the laughter of like-minded loved ones – loved ones that also ache, that also cannot go on – but will anyhow.
As long as I can live in a world with eagles, bats, singing and like-minded hearts I will have love.
This is not the nonchalant white picket fence do nothing as the world burns type of love, nor is it the violent extremist rubber bullets and homemade bombs type of love. It’s a love that doesn’t exist in-between them, but in-fact beyond them, not despite them but because of them.

In response to the times we are in, something beautiful and furious has arisen. Something in you and I that may stand to redefine revolution as a whole.
So I have love, and it tends to the colossal loneliness, the crippling doubt, and the fear of that lingering encompassing ache.
This love whispers to me

“You ache? Good, you are fortunate for the reminder of the state of things. That that ache and make it your power, take that power and make it your gift”
-but damn, some days; somedays are harder than others.

So what is Humanity? Some would say adolescent, destructive, tantrum prone, regressive by force. Call me radical, foolish or idealistic but instead I -in the spirit of my “Post-Jadedness”- choose to ask “what it could be?’ and to see what it IS in smaller circles – That is what utterly enchants me and keeps me going on and on and on.
It is the beauty. That of which we are collectively and individually capable of – And to be in service to beauty’s progress is a damn fine place to be; ache and all.

-ac/mh

art credit: http://jojoesart.deviantart.com/art/Listen-to-your-Heart-578385317

shush

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Shush Woman, they said
Shut out your words, for they will burn you
Shut out your enduring power, for they will ignite you
Shut out your judicious truth, for it is not within your ownership to dictate
Shut out your precious integrity, for it’s pyre will swallow you whole
Shush

There was a time, rooted deep in our blood & bones
where free speech, led to blistering heat
There was a time, in the ghost of our grandmothers
where free speech, led to compound fractures
There was a time, penned into the eyes of our Mothers
where free speech, led to shameful demotion
There is a time now, in these spaces where we settle
where free speech, threatens to send us tumbling back
to the days of shamefulness, trespassed bodies and fire
So much fire

So shush Woman, less they see you

Shush Woman, I say
Forgive yourself for being beautiful, for it is not all that you are
Forgive yourself for enjoying sex, for the archetype “slut” is only an abstraction
Forgive yourself for crafting thought, for the world needs your voice to thrive
Forgive yourself for loving so profoundly, for it is what you were built to inspire
Shush

Here is an opportunity, to repurpose our wounds
where the bipolar inferno could marry us all to the unseen
Here is an opportunity, to write a new story
release the fickle paradise and quivering clipped bridal wings
Here is an opportunity, to put a close to our internal warfare
The targets on our backs painted with whispers, surmised antiquated
Here is an opportunity, to unify & embody our strength
A community cutting through the trauma and the chains, stating
“we’re worth more than this”
so much more

So shush Woman, less they learn with you

There is no victory in sacrificing ecstasy for sanity
So burn dear Woman, let your fearful rage transmute to fierce love
Awaken the Wild, the untamed passion
set forth the flame of which resonates saturated in the throes of heartbreak – and take back the element of which was used to slight you
and perhaps then;

A conjunction in the form of an exhale
our celebration of imperfect but ardent progression
a notion of familial kinship
seeing each other, from womb to tomb
kindle
A Family – Bred of Flame
Not of Blood –
– But of consecrated devotion, and authentic love
– Born of Freedom
and perhaps then
without the encapsulating fear or hatred – we can finally rest with ease

– AppleCat

Art Credit: Christian Schloe Digital Artwork – https://www.facebook.com/ChristianSchloeDigitalArt/