Feel

It's not that you make me feel

happy

safe

young

free.

But that you make me feel

at all.
  

Being Inarticulate

it's really hard to be articulate, you see
when I'm with you
my words make no real sense
my mouth
is spewing them out
like a cassette tape would
spew out sappy old songs
that we only hear on easy listening radio stations
 

Number Three

(The story of the Third.)

It began with a stirring in my heart.
I was thirsty for rebellion.
I was holding on to the last few delicate threads of my youth.

I asked Mother for permission:
"No," she said.
And "No," I heard.

And so I resigned to my Mother's wishes, and life went on.
And life was peaceful.

Until I stirred again.

My heart would not be still.
The moment was ripe.
I had to.
And I did.

Without much thought,
save for one deep breath,
I took the plunge.
It was painful, but thrillingly so.
It was a pain the moment it started.
It was a pain the moment it had to be taken away.
It was a pain trying to put it back on.
And it was a pain knowing I had to give it up.

But I did.
I gave up on it, and walked away as a different person.
Not quite who I was before the whole affair.
Someone else.


Thus ends the story of what would have been my third piercing.