Sticky Pistols and the Woman

Circle the wagons…it’s happening again!

I am a woman.  I am a very devout lesbian.  I have known women in the beyond biblical sense for many a year.  I have counted myself as a female, nonetheless…and, I still don’t get it.

Jump?  High how would you like me to go…dear?

“No, I didn’t say, jump…I said, go get the dump!”

 

Nasturtims Giving Homage to Georgia O'Keefe

“I don’t really like to talk dirty unless it’s in a text…however, if I don’t respond…that means I didn’t like what you said.”

Oh, really?  Therefore, the question begs?  Does the meek man or lesbian in waiting wait?  Do they send another text?  Do they give up?  Do they offer encouraging words?  Or, better yet, do they just chalk one up for the other side?  The overly feminine team that pulls you in with fun words like lust, fuck, dirty and/or I like it rough!

 

Every time a sucker… such as myself- Androgynistic   gets pulled in by the scent of a woman, the curve of her heavenly assets that should be stamped with ‘get me two of those to go’ or those quiet moments when the hormones are subdued and ready for hibernation, the slightest nod of ‘you get my approval only for today’ comes my way and I find myself being the ball not the bat, the bug and not the windshield in the world of womanly ways to lure a newcomer.

People have often asked, how is it you are a lesbian and you don’t get women?

I often ask myself, how is it I’m a lesbian and I don’t get women.

This I know to be true however:

On any given moment on any given day.  When the stars are aligned just right.  A crevice in the universe opens up to those of us afflicted by the scent of a woman.  We will cower in their presence where we generally run our own show.  We will dance in the decadent deep erotic thoughts that only the image of a well-rounded woman can provide.  We will, though strong and purposeful in our everyday lives, hand our nasty little thoughts over to the fantasy of just where do those curves end and just where do those dimples lead…

 

You make me feel like a sticky pistil…
leading into a stamen
You make me feel like a mister sunshine…
Himself
You make me feel like splendor in the grass…
while we`re rollin`…
Damn skippy baby
You make me feel like the Amazon`s runnin` between…
my thighs

You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love, love
You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love

Georgia O'Keefe

You make me feel like a candy apple
Red and horny
You make me feel like I wanna be a dumb blonde
In a centerfold, the girl next door
And I would open the door and…
I`d be all wet
With my tits soaking through this tiny little t-shirt…
That I`m wearing
And you would open the door and tie…
Me up to the bed

Georgia O'Keefe

Chorus

Lover, I don`t know who I am
Am I Barry White? Am I Isis?
Lover, I`m laced with your unconscious
Oh baby babe babe baby
I will be your Desdemona ahhhhh…

Take your time…

Georgia O'Keefe

You make me feel Ahaa
You make me feel WooWoo baby
You make me feel Ahaa mmm
You make me feel loved

 

 

Always Leave Your Light On

When I was younger…much younger than today, I ran. I ran from the darkness that shouted from the emptiness I felt inside. The hiding and pretending and disintegrating into poetry, books, music and alike: seemed the only way to cope with a father shackled in fear of his anger and a mother displaced by her own blame. If it were not for art I would not be. I dare so…there are many more like me. Be them southern, hetero, short, tall or plaid and polka dotted. The artists who struggle do so from a past that has given them their joy for difference. Be it song, dance, scripture or sculpture.   We are all the same in this world. For no matter how different we are we are common in our struggles to be free. Ripple

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine

And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung

Would you hear my voice come through the music?

Would you hold it near, as it were your own?

It’s a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken

Perhaps they’re better left unsung

I don’t know, don’t really care

Let there be songs to fill the air

-Ripple

Jerry Garcia

Even If
The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I figured out, I have to learn again
I’ve been tryin’ to get down to the Heart of the Matter
But everything changes
And my friends seem to scatter
But I think it’s about forgiveness
Forgiveness
-Heart of the Matter
-Don Henley

Leave a Light on

It’s dark in here I feel so alone

But there’s a light somebody just turned on

It opens my eyes and it lets me see

And once again it amazes me

How your love stays with me

When shadows fall and everybody leaves

Well I’m not alone I know I’ll never be

Your love stays with me

When cold rains fall against my skin

It chills my body oh but not the soul within

Cause I got a fire burnin’ so bright

It keeps me warm through the longest night

Oh how your love stays with me…

-Your Love Stays with Me

Shelby Lynne

Villianous Vigrant Poets

There’s little white lights every where

Your childhood dog in dads old chair

And more memory’s than then my heart can hold

Leave us singing fields of gold

There’s neighbors, thieves and long lost lovers

Villains, poets, kings and mothers

Up here we forgive each other

For every soul that’s down there waiting

Holding on still hesitating

We say a prayer of levitating

You can look back on your life and lot

It can’t matter what your not

By the time your here were all we’ve got

In my heaven

-In My Heaven

Mary Chapin Carpenter

A true Artist Always Leaves their Light On

-Me

Fond of Love

Love for Arts
Love for Arts (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It is regretful to say…as many have before me…I have squandered love. Held it too tight in the beginning and loosened my grip when I should have held on during the winds of change, in the end.
Sex is not love. Lust is not love. Kinship is not love. There is no better or for worse…for in love… that is always the case.
Love can lack in every department but one; the department of our honest souls. If in the fleeting glimpse of our life. The moments when health wanes. The days when the rain comes and stays for eternity…or at least a week. The slip of a tongue. The vacant glance of a stranger and the thoughtlessness of ‘it could be better’. Are all parts of myself in which I can only really allow one other to see.
Years spent with life and love as a concept like a timeshare in sunny climates…are perfect for love. For the trip back and forth may be filled with gale force winds and high climate drama…the road will still lead back to the ONLY ONE. The ONLY ONE with whom your soul has been embedded with all along.

AT LAST
My love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song

Oh yeah yeah
At last

The skies above are blue

...sing a song to it everyday
…sing a song to it everyday


My heart was wrapped up in clover
The night I looked at you

I found a dream, that I could speak to
A dream that I can call my own
I found a thrill to press my cheek to
A thrill that I have never known

Oh yeah yeah
You smiled, you smiled
Oh and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
for you are mine…

At Last

Homosexuality Unmasked…WE Are Everywhere

Have your leaves all turned to brown Will you scatter them around you
Have your leaves all turned to brown
Will you scatter them around you

A few months ago, while traveling with myself and Beckett Couvillion, within the confines of the attic filled with fantasy. I had chance to recall a story I had been told.
A homophobic tale that went uninvestigated, as they say. It was not handed down to me via Skype, Facebook, text or any other source of online and off the hook media. It was given word to ear.
Back in the day, say, twenty some odd years ago, there had been a quiet couple. Unassuming women who happened to find themselves together under a coupled roof and God’s organized religion,   Holding on to a secret that could not be bared. They mused and posed musically. Bringing their unique gift of sound to the church’s golden pew each and every Sunday and gathering in the hands of other wonton misguided zealots.
The females singularly seemed quite trite. Of average intelligence and above par education. The powers that be offered ‘do not ask, do not tell’ in every sermon mounted upon the altar.
The couple gave from the depths of their souls to the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. But when behind closed doors and with closed minds shut out; the love for each other appeared to all that knew them as nothing short of tender moments stolen from spirituality.
Then one day the music ended as quickly as it began. The Sunday best became the Sunday fears. Urban myth relies on word of mouth and gentle of mind. It could only be believed than that one of the young mistresses had succumbed to society and its unprecedented bias of the unknown. Truth be told…she simply just vanished into thin

Whatever will be..will be
Whatever will be..will be

judgmental air.
The last half of the duo clung tight to pious right and wrong. Smiled for the congregation and wept in solitude and solace. To have been offered an answer or a kind word seemed far out of reach and beyond the love of God.
She too went missing not long after her partner in verse and spouse of secrecy. Never to be heard singing the word of THE LORD, again.
Does it weaken one’s pride to see that the road so hard fought is being battled by a generation that has found itself spoiled? Spoiled by what so many have given their lives for, rotted from the inside out by lesbians who do not dare fight homophobia.
If by alluding my own instinctual and spiritual being to find acceptance by the moral majority: Have I not given up my right to fight those who oppose my carelessness?

De-Friending

I've Fallen & I Can't Get Up
Turned away from it all like a blind man
Sat on a fence but it don’t work

How to relieve stress when masturbating and sex are no longer an option. If you saw the beach bombers I hang with you’d understand why. If you were witness to the mass destruction of my individuality…you further understand why..

Pressure pushing down on me
Pressing down on you no man ask for
Under pressure – that burns a building down
Splits a family in two
Puts people on streets
  that’s o.k.
It’s the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming ‘Let me out’
Pray tomorrow – gets me higher
Pressure on people – people on streets
 Chippin’ around – kick my brains around the floor
These are the days it never rains but it pours
 
 It’s the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming ‘Let me out’
Pray tomorrow – gets me higher high high
Pressure on people – people on streets
Turned away from it all like a blind man
Sat on a fence but it don’t work
Keep coming up with love
but it’s so slashed and torn
Why – why – why ?
Love love love love love
Insanity laughs under pressure we’re cracking
Can’t we give ourselves one more chance
Why can’t we give love that one more chance
Why can’t we give love give love give love give love
give love give love give love give love give love
‘Cause love’s such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the Night
And love dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance

So often I have been asked to watch as my friends screamed ‘Let Me Out’…

so many times, I’ve de-friended before the need became too real.

Insincerely-

Ambien stuck without Grace