The grind of incessant chores made less daunting with the pain in my reins, tamed by my intellect eating a moment.
A musing, I go to hopelessly inappropriate thoughts…
I want to
eat you
like cotton candy,
feel your sweetness
melt upon my tongue
so I can
swallow you
into my soul,
keeping you to hold,
sharing words
that fill me whole!
A moment, the best of my life, you touched me, and I got to touch you! The cloud from last night with you singing in front of me embraces my brain hot after the long night of revelry…
(as if you felt my hand secretly reaching to carress your beautiful face, kiss your lips in thanks, when fate trapped you in my space)
Time stopped to record that moment whilst before you, I found myself tongue-tied, in awe…
Your words, your beat came into my body physically, with insane energy, turning me from old to young, HUNGRY for more of your wordsmith tongue!
An idol in my mind, your voice, your personality pierced my heart, Love…
I’m so awkward, I just wish I would’ve been able to talk, that’s the funny part.
Wow! My god Zack, YOU FUCKING ROCK!!!
(My cloud crash is worth your weight in gold, for in a moment I’ll treasure forever, you gave me your hand to hold;)
I know I’m alone in the day after yearn, but HOT DAMN I’m enamored!
Like a cushy marshmallow beginning to drip goo over a light warming flame, inside I melt for You.
Like the sun on ice during a Midwest winter, I know you’re there, yet I can’t feel you.
Beaming bright your light refracts off the world with a slice-like sting upon my eyes,
Slammed lids keep you caught within me where you warm my frightened frigity as you do things to boil my blood from toe to head in waves of warmth coming again and again until You make me become overwhelmed…
I melt myself back to life, a grin on my lips, knowing I’ve got you trapped within.
I often skirt truth, but about me, truth to the reader: I am no fantasy. I’m not a ‘real’ writer. I don’t know how to write about myself, never have been able to stomach the vulnerability of telling others the ugly I hide inside, but I think I’ll try here on this blog that I began to escape life and stimulate my mind:
I’m a paraplegic from a car accident in 1991 at 14, graduated in 1999 from Ball State University in my home state of IN, moved to boarder town of Yuma, taught high school English in Arizona for about 10 years, quit for a graduate assistantship in Flagstaff, had to drop out of graduate school for a surgery, but moved home, got married and had a beautiful daughter Alexandria (who is going to be 16), moved to Colorado, started blogging, nearly got divorced, moved back to our hometown in the Midwest, stopped blogging…
Fast-forward to 2020, I accidentally had a baby boy Quentin (Q named after the Star Trek Next Gen character:) who kept me company during COVID, and over the course of ALL that time I’ve had ten surgeries, including two spinal fusions the second in 2021. I’m a stay at home mother trying to conquer near agoraphobic social anxiety with which I can’t stop talking, and trust me when I say that in public I am often hopelessly inappropriate, especially when trying NOT to be. My marriage is rocky, my daughter has a social anxiety disorder, is bisexual, an artist, and prone to intrusive thoughts, and my sweet Q is a super smart five year old boy with a good sense of humor and is high-functioning autistic. Life is often overwhelming!!!
So here, I write to help get out thoughts and feelings I can’t express in my real world, like anger (I hold it in my gut, making me sad and sick) and love (my muse (the man behind the YOU I write to) is my fun…he makes my brain light up hot with hidden connections and my body ache now that my sex life is non-existent;), all to make myself smile, laugh, get off, or say fuck off to sad!
Some day I’ll have the time and energy to do more than just write, but for now, all my truth is my gift, however Hopelessly Inappropriate;)
What’s my hook? I ponder as I cook, Do I have a hook today? And this is what the right side of my brain had to say:
I have a hook
in your mouth
I could put
to sink my line…
have you swallow
being caught
ALL FOR ME
and I’dĀ EAT you
SUCKED IN WHOLE
I lick my lips in remembrance of the man I used to know, the one I never caught, the one who owns my heart.
What’s the story behind your nickname?
Truth salad thrown up like vomit after eating mushrooms, that’s what it’s like to talk with me. Somewhere between trauma at a young age paralyzing my body and genes riddled with addiction teaching me how to behave, I learned my fate is to be ‘Hopelessly Inappropriate’ and that’s how my best friends know me. Instead of overtalking and finding my foot in my mouth constantly, I began writing to embrace new ways to be fun and sexy. Hopelessly Inappropriate borne from anxiety seeks to hide from reality using fantasy. Yep, that’s me.
I’m sure it’s obvious that I don’t know what I’m doing. Days go by, and every moment I wonder, where’s all this going?
I can’t help but wonder š¤ do I maintain or do I force change?
Is it Writing? Health? Lifestyle? Marriage?Politics? Personal Affairs?
It’s true. I feel so very slathered in sticky goo! What…OH WHAT…am I to do???
Oven HOT,
baking again,
handmade icing
SLOW dripping
down my fingers,
my tongue licking
palm to tip
to clean the drips,
in my mouth
the WHOLE digit
I sticks,
sucking the sweetness
with a tongue-
scrubbing wipe
to end with a silent
swallow-swish,
and while savoring
the flavor, a moan
vibrates my lips,
eyes roll CLOSED,
OH…OH…OH…
You pop in,
turning on my tongue
till you POP OFF!
My eyes again OPEN…
Just like that, since the days of us as kids sitting in the pews at the Catholic Church, when I least expect it, You pop in and out of me AGAIN AND AGAIN, turning my innocence to sin.
“And I laugh!!!” Cackles the Devil within.
Hopelessly Inappropriate Thoughts 