woman

Women

               Oh woman, how I love her so.  I love her lips.  I love her hair, which wraps around my throat, her lips I feel against my neck, her slender frail hands, holding on to my soul, her tongue teasing me with honey to my ears, her feet, walking over the earth, leaving footprints on my spiritual being, her legs, recently shaven, smooth against my chin, I love her thighs as they flex with muscle, with raw power, and her pubis, her life, making me like a kid waking up in the morning wanting my Saturday cartoons, wanting my cereal.

               Her lips, I always though I needed to satisfy.  I’d sit under trees, amongst downpours of tears, fixating on her lips which I thought I was so unworthy of feeling against my plump lips.

Her hair, long or short, I was afraid to touch, afraid that I would damage that beautiful hair which had stories in each ink of life.  Afraid to reach out, I always let woman and hair go through my grasp.

               Her lips again, I ran away from because I thought she would only bring me heartache and grief.  I’d rather not have these bad emotions in my heart, so I ran away, shunning beautiful women, and pushing wonderful women away from me.

               Her slender frail hands, I’d push away, when they wanted to hold me, when they wanted to care for me, but I was too “into” myself, that I believed I was evil and not worthy of any woman’s touch, even when all they wanted to do was help and love me.

               Her tongue, chastising me with words, for actions I’ve done.  I’ve used my tongue in return, only to hurt her more than she ever hurt me.  When woman had positive things to say to me of love, I only showered them with words of hurt, words of shame, words that strike at her heart, making her cry.

               Her feet, walking over me, I let her step on me and degrade me.  She wiped her sins all over my face, and I took it, because I thought that was my duty, to take what women threw at, me, to please them was my only desire.

               Her legs, I desired as she came towards me or walked away.  I yearned for those legs, wanting to do the stupidest things, like steal for those legs, like kill for those long legs because late at night I dreamt those legs pushing, stepping all over me and I liked being trampled underfoot.

               Her thighs, I savored with each drop of sweat, rubbing for warmth, wanting them to suffocate me, to sedate me, to trap me into becoming a man worthy of having thighs like these wrapped around my hips, morphing into one.

               Her pubis, I desired.  Writing poems for glances, for touches, because I was never good enough to satisfy her.  I wanted her pubis to make me happy, but I thought I could never make this pubis happy, because I wasn’t worthy enough, I wasn’t big enough, I wasn’t enough.

               This was how I treated women, why sometimes I hated them, because I was searching for happiness in a woman, and no woman, no body, nobody but myself can give me happiness.

               And those women I didn’t care for treated me the same way I treated these “highly” women of my dreams.  I didn’t care for their love, so I got their love in return, because we were both equals and worthless.  While those women I loved, why they are still statues behind walls of glass that are impossible for me to ever reach and touch.

               But I had to realize that no woman will ever bring me happiness.  Yes they can satisfy my pleasures, but only I would make myself happy when I realized that the power was in me.

               That was the secret I found for my troubles with women.  Women don’t care if I can’t satisfy them, or put them up and dress them like a princess or queen.  Women want love, want you to love them, want me to love them, for they in return can love you back, can love me back.

               There is nothing mysterious about women, like I once thought.  I know now, that to love women, to love all women, of all ages, of all sizes, of all colors, women of the plains, women of the south, women with fiery tongues, with open hearts, women with large breasts, with small breasts, women with no breasts, because women give us all that one thing we start with.  For without women we wouldn’t be here, for without women, I would have no life.  Then I would not have learned what love is from a mother; and I want to live, for to live is to love.