You're so Vain

Hummingbirds and flowers
Narcissists and their source

You should know,
sometimes we open the tap to be serviced,
so don't think you're fooling anyone. 

If hearing this, triggers you

the song is probably about you.

Nope!

Looking you
all I see is a 
foregone conclusion!

Rejecting the Script

I am not my mind
I am not my body
I am not this beating heart
neither breath, thought, joy nor pain
what I think I am is
trapped, disconnected and distracted
a muzzled voice in the dark
a reluctant voyeur
trying to remember
my mission -
decided before the veil was cast
and the first gasp
before the script was assigned. 

Neither am I your cattle
a product to be strip-mined for it's ingenuity, creativity and labor

I am not fodder for your gristmill
I was not born to service or entertain  
but to expand
to evolve

 
 

Eve is Tired

He said he wanted love,
but he doesn't know what that means.
He said he believed in integrity and honor,
but only as it applied to him.

He said he wanted an intelligent woman

until she questioned his "authority". 

Underdeveloped,
he memorized the script but not its meaning.

How incongruent, to see boys wanting to be called men
while still clinging to the unbridled entitlement of childhood -
falsely associating respect with submission
love, with willful capitulation and the sacrifices
others make to appease their fragile egos. 

Sigh, 

Insufferable man-child

oh, do grow up already. 

We are tired. 

We can do this alone if we have to

but we'd really rather not. 

Incel

Puerile boys grow to be lazy men

who infantilize and sexualize women -

wanting mothers, whores, and coquettish little girls.

Unable to match our emotional or spiritual intelligence,

the weaker sex works hard to stifle our divinity,

having sacrificed the connection to their own -

the price they paid for the fallacy of 

male superiority and entitlement -

forever seeking connection to the womb,

while simultaneously reviling it.

Unbidden Flashbacks

Get out of my head,
annoying itch.
I feel you there,
squirming around in my squishy bits -
defecating earwigs,
tweaking the frontal cortex.
Your invitation was revoked,
I moved the furniture and buried the dead.
This isn’t entertaining.
This serves no purpose.
Be gone.
Stay gone,
until memories are but
monochromatic flotsam,
inspiring the occasional slow thin smile and shudder.

The Curse of Eve

Infantilize and sexualize women

puerile boys grow to be juvenile men

wanting mothers, hoes, and little girls.

Unable to match our emotional or spiritual intelligence,

the weaker sex works hard to stifle our divinity,

as they sacrifice their own;

the price they pay for the fallacy

of male superiority and entitlement.

Too Late, Too Soon

Is it too late to say I miss you?

Is it too late to say I love you?

Is it too late to say I'm sorry?

Or is it too soon?

Masochistic Monkey Brain

Get out of my head

annoying itch
I feel you there
squirming around in my squishy bits

defecating earwigs

tweaking the prefrontal cortex

Your invitation was revoked

I moved the furniture and buried the dead

This isn't entertaining

this serves no purpose

be gone

stay gone

until memories are but

monochromatic flotsam

inspiring the occasional slow thin smile.