Author: Hopelessly Inappropriate

Just a Poke

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Just a poke! Poke a head Just once…maybe twice.

Never before has it come with such powerful stimulation, turning my virtue into vice.

I inhale my Gorilla Fuck (strongest strain for the brain) take it all in…

A giddy girl again, preying on a man, I make him do whatever I want him to. And willing, he’d never want to leave, happy servicing me for an eternity.

In return, I’d fulfill his every need, and make his wildest dreams come true. I gorge on the ‘how’ as I sleep.

Upon waking, my reality redressed, I ponder why I find this so fucking funny a bubble POPS in my tummy!?!?

a bear hug to my brain

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I take you to bed each night, a bear hug to my brain as I lie down physically, emotionally drained.

I wrap myself in the memory of that voice, that face, warming me deep in a secret place.

I eat those lines like spaghetti, sucking out the meaning of life as every ‘Ooohhh’ makes me feel high!

I watch the open eye gradually close, time measured by light, and know ‘Stay strong, you’re not alone tonight.’

Sailing to Sit

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Grass blades prickling toes

dancing as I lift a daisy

from ground to nose,

sniffing my eyes high

to catch the right cloud,

jump up and hitch a ride

sailing to sit by your side

take your hand in mine

and…WAIT to see what you would do

if you knew I’m so in love with you!?!

Face It

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Cracked glass clouded by steam,

the reflection skewed reality,

my face distorted, monstrous!

That’s why I cover mirrors.

Sometimes, someone sees me,

wheels making me too obvious,

and I ponder what they think…

“You’re so strong!” One exclaimed.

Muscles atrophied to skin ‘n’ bone

long ago, weakness whittled

from could to should to won’t

with my soul my gut’s blackhole

sucking up good, bad ‘n’ all…

It’s not the wrinkles or dark spots

aging looks back and takes stock:

Who were you? Who’ve you become?

Does your soul just need a hug?

LEARN TO GIVE YOURSELF LOVE ❤️

SMACK

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WHACK-SMACK! Reality’s back.

I twist my hair into a stiff bun, pick up my broom, sweeping lines of longing under the rug..

I’ve lived alone on the border of Arizona and Mexico, Phoenix, Flagstaff, Denver and Littleton, Colorado, and many towns in Indiana. I did alone well. I used to go to bars and concerts alone, restaurants and museums. I used to roll my wheelchair up mountains to take pictures, sail and rock climb to get high.

High is my current state of being, struggling to get by, OCD with animals constantly shedding, pain aching, pricking, and stabbing day in day out.

I don’t yell or shout, I never fight (despite the nitpicking comments thrown at me, blaming me for everything that goes wrong).

Silently (except in my head), I just keep cleaning up, dying to feel young, supple again, not an old wrinkly wench.

Dreams save my life, as a distraction from all my strife.

The Swoon

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The swoon:

meeting your eyes

across the room…

oh my swoon,

my chest

like a balloon

enlarging

as you come

closer, sauntering

in my direction

with determination

for further erection

of our firey connection…

Oh my swoon!!! You.

Dark my thirst

to drink you in,

stripped of all

inhibitions!

I stare still.

In your eyes

I HAVE TO DIVE.