MOODY

Dangerous Territory

I’ve been swimming in the deep end lately.

My head is spinning in circles.

My heart had never been so hollow on the inside.

I need to catch my breath before I do anything else stupid.

 

My work of art is an escape from uniformity.

I felt safe with you for the time being.

At the end of the week, you cuddled me

When the sergeant had an off day at work and took it out on me.

 

I let you in like I did when I meet new people.

You were happy for me when I told you I finally found love.

I wanted nothing more than a friend’s reassurance that everything will be okay.

But you in particular were a land mine waiting to explode.

 

It’s dangerous territory where you’re from as a queer.

It’s dangerous territory where I lurk on the web.

It’s dangerous territory to build a world without receiving adequate training.

It’s dangerous territory to make friends with volatile people like you.

 

I can barely read script in Delphi without misinterpreting some if not most of its passages.

My art isn’t like what you’d expect to see in other do-it-yourself or high-profile projects.

The way I write, the way I archive, and the way I distribute information is my strongest suit.

There is no way I can fulfill my goal in life alone without the help of a team that knows its stuff.

 

You didn’t have to sugarcoat your advice to fix my problems

But you didn’t have to pull more than my teeth either.

You spoke to me as if I had to know every damn trick in the book.

You pointed out where I went wrong as if I didn’t already understand it.

 

I would have welcomed your advice if you watched your language.

I would have been more considerate if we joined forces as planned.

But being friendly with you in light of this is just out of question.

You can say that I’m high all you want, but it goes to show that you’re smaller than you think.

 

It’s dangerous territory where you’re from as a queer.

It’s dangerous territory where I lurk on the web.

It’s dangerous territory to build a world without receiving adequate training.

It’s dangerous territory to make friends with volatile people like you.

 

A vagabond told me this morning that I don’t learn much from success

And boy, I sure did learn a lot about your character more than what it takes to be top dog.

I might also let it slip that you exploded in my face because your little rant was all over the place.

In that case, riddle me this, who among the two of us really needs room for improvement?

The Elephant in My Cell

You came at a bad time.

A terribly, terribly bad time.

You showed up the moment I couldn’t stand to touch you.

I was afraid you were never going to come.

I should have been glad you came, but why am I not relieved?

Is it that crippling fear that the moment I touch you, you fade away like a ghost?

Is it that you might be a whistleblower looking for an insecurity to use against me later?

Or is it that you are trying to distract me from tending to my garden before it dies of thirst?

 

I want to shout, “Why didn’t you come sooner?!”

I want to shout, “Where were you when I needed you most?!”

I want to yell at the top of my lungs, “Would it kill you to tell me what’s driving you away from me?!!”

But I am too nice. Too kind and gentle to scream and point to the elephant in the room.

The very elephant that a sorcerer pulled out of his hat and crippled both of my limbs.

 

I never wanted to call for help because it reinforces the notion that I should still be in high school.

I’ve crawled around all year avoiding the other teenage drama queens that worship dragons.

Seems like they forgot that dragons like to steal our fortunes and our hearts. Before they eat them.

 

Spending time with my open-minded little brother has planted a seed of doubt in my head.

A seed that gets me thinking that all love does to me is waste my time experimenting with false hope.

 

My imaginary nights with a fallen angel goes along the lines of;

“Yes, yes, honey, shower me with hugs and kisses. Oh, my love, how I yearn for you.

Pleasure me with your lust until the water in your veins runs out and you become a raisin.

Only then, will I toss you in the sun and wonder why the hell I’ve never gotten lucky.”

When will the water cycle end for the both of us?

What compels Venus to bewitch me to make bad choices?

Why else do you think independent seekers with degrees in hand avoid commitment?

Our grandparents and parents are more patient than our generation is now

Because compared to us, they tended to their gardens and their raisins.

You did a bang-up job tending to me by showering me with promises you can’t keep,

With complex wisdom about human nature, stories of your struggle to get your education over with,

And the snuggles and touches that I wished were real more than the chains I dream of shattering.

 

You’ve made this game look so easy, you know?

All that had impressed me about you lately is how you’ve lured me into your arms,

Only to neglect me without warning when the sun was at its hottest.

Part of me does not wish to see you go because I tolerate the pain that your absence has left behind.

You scarcely have time on your hands, but would you care to join me for a cup of jasmine tea?

It won’t take long. What I want to know next is what else is new that you have yet to tell me?

"Anjelle"

Folder: 
DaddyO's BDSM

by DaddyO


I am rife with questions

Unsure of interpretation
When confronted by her challenge.

A yin-yang weblog of

Feelings so forbidden;
Ideas so illicit

 

Filtering into my cerebellum
My brain's chemistry altered 

 

She is a human pharmaceutical
No doctor would prescribe. 

 

A sad-lipped pout

Innocently forms

In my mind
In little girl fashion

As a giggle emerges

From her lips

 

"Is my sweetie happy?"

 

Her brown eyes bat
Her tongue extends for sugar

 

Cotton candy melts

On those lips

 

She licks them so
In circles

'Round and 'round

 

Her lips
In circles

 

Her hips too

 

Knees weaken while I fall
To the ground

Throbbing

 

Without remorse, 
Excuse, or certainly regret

 

Some call reason unreasonable
Some call justification unjust
Some give up and call it obscene

 

Not me
Not if delivered from an angel

Author's Notes/Comments: 

2008, for Anjelle 

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Surprise

So hollow and damp at the core of his eyes,

Seeking a soul to most a bountiful surprise,

His thoughts like day but murky as lies,

Another unpleasant and mutating surprise.

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

Not really sure what im doing so posted a little something something would love some feedback on all of my errors.

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THE WORLD AROUND

Like tiny wretched leaves
No lamp around to see the darkness
The musculous thigh like weaker vessel

From the navel of many souls,
No grown abdomen to sympathize companion aches
As all being raided by fairless tide

Where are the warriors; warriors?, Yes warriors!
Seems they are all cowards, cowards!
Like prince of Ealdor

Are the aged elders still around in the town?
Aged men, yes aged men; Elders
It seems but none ready to,
Tell fairytale, that Ancient Folktales

So now who will tell the truth? umn truth?
The truth of our backlife
as we think theres no man like unicorn

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WE CAN NOT TALL

We cannot tall
If knife sarkens Octave
That memoirers recluse

We cannot tall
If raven exhumes from sahara
That eel ration shortens in the sea

We cannot tall
If bare touches the red
That swords raise upon sky

We cannot tall
If races unraffles the pride
That owners lock out of alms

We cannot tall
If elders oscare warthog
That silence still looms

We cannot tall
Kings betray his subjects
That queens berate the gentry

We african domestics
Host orgy to feast with
Like opossum we die
And rise like osprey
To extirpate grown weeds on our orchards
In order to tall and hugy

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Its an appeal poem to watertighten the reign of Peace

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THE CLOUDY DAY

What kind of day is this may?
I want the answer from day herself
As she pregnants with heavy belly
hiddens the whiteness and silver helves
I couldn't blind but why i couldn't see?
When the glory eaves and hisses
before the frame of premonotion and hullacination
That shelter and shield the future that encave procession

The cloudy day
I wonder why you tempted my spirit
from flying to the meaningful hay
While the moment came with rift
With pressing bow before it rays
like suffering mice looking for shelter

The cloudy day
Why you couldn't have affinity
For my dearest hope that throws his shawdow
upon my casting wall that forms the meadow

The cloudy day
i could not forget your whistle
that blows around and slapping my face,leaving the aging scars and array
like a tribal african that loses his tuzzle

The cloudy day
I will always recall your meaning
Which you gave when I pray
And count you hours to hours in puzzling

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