Gray Matters

gray-matters-4

Parallel souls surface.

Tepid, rusty oven doors…critical, tired and old.

Again, the scattering of orphans…nothing but out dated candy for the eye.

Disfigured misfits falling from the austere sky.

Harvested crusted cuticles,

just surrogates from the wrong side of the tracks.

There is a sisterhood to what lies beyond the facts.

When We Get Behind Closed Doors

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Mr. Gay states…
‘it just makes me feel big’
So Those Whoopi Goldberg Pants-Peeing Commercials...
Ms.Goldberg states…
‘it just makes me feel dry.’

It’s probably just me but something is definitely wrong with this world.  Sometimes things just seem off track…like a run away train heading straight for Batman’s cave.

There are somethings that remain untouchable.  Items and actions we hide behind closed doors and only allow the unprivileged few to see.

For instance, toileting habits.  My bowel movements, my lack of consistency in the continence department remain actions pro and/or  con are kept under lock and key.  They are allotted personal character defects that only my dog, my cat and my next door neighbor know about.

I am not a man and I do not play one on TV.  However, what is with this need to be BIG?  Longer, firmer, harder and over powering.  I haven’t been with a man in the biblical sense for quite sometime.  And, yes, I’m proud of it.  Many would say, well, Ruth, you’re a lesbian of course you aren’t interested in the one eyed wonder worm.

Nope!  My first instinct before the closet doors swung open.  Back in the day when I dabbled in heterosexual behaviors…I knew one thing with certainty:

That fuckin’ thing.  That unusually shaped and placed flabby stick that felt like melted rubber and poked at the heavens on command wasn’t normal!  To this day I cannot eat the ends of hot dogs, bananas, suck on a lollipop or hold my breath under water for an extended period of time.

Honestly, that example of over grown misdirection erection and the swaddled in your own piss undergarment should be wrapped together and left under the Christmas tree…remaining unwrapped indefinitely!

My baby makes me proud
Lord, don’t she make me proud
She never makes a scene
By hanging all over me in a crowd
‘Cause people like to talk
Lord, don’t they love to talk
But when they turn out the lights
I know she’ll be leaving with me

And when we get behind closed doors

Grilled hot dogs
Then she lets her hair hang down
And she makes me glad that I’m a man
Oh, no-one knows what goes on behind closed doors

My baby makes me smile

Lord, don’t she make me smile
She’s never far away
Or too tired to say: “I want you”
She’s always a lady, just like a lady should be
But when they turn out the lights
She’s still a baby to me

‘Cause when we get behind closed doors
Then she lets her hair hang down
And she makes me glad that I’m a man
Oh, no-one knows what goes on behind closed doors