Self-Doubt

Maybe I'm just making love to self-doubt
as I whisper erotically in its ear,
"i can do anything".

-anna sluder

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Oblivion

I'm here and you are looking at me and I at you and I am tugging at the string that I had so tightly tied around your finger hoping you won't forget and I'm thinking about my body burning every freckle, place that you touched or held every inch of skin and limb and crinkle that holds memories of a smile burned tossed among the wind in a bohemian-like dance that insists I be tossed like bird food among the places that I loved when I only ever really loved you but I suppose being worm food isn't much better at the hands of grave diggers too So I'm here looking at you Hoping you'd give a penny for these thoughts because they feel worth a million since they are like dreams that when you wake up you pine to remember but they are already gone perhaps they are truly nothing but you still want to know even go mad to hear what unconsciousness tasted like the high of genius you get from snorting unreality like a drug Just tell me, was I beautiful ...
Read more

First's

Let us not forget the miles it took for us to get here; how long it took to stop getting cozy with chaos, to stop planting any seed we caught from the wind in the garden of our hearts. And let us not forget the first time you turned off the light and sat alone in the dark and you felt safe; because once you’ve survived it’s like having all your first’s again except no one is there to hold your hand, so let us not forget the first time you ate after it happened, I think it was a strawberry Pop-Tart, the first words that you said, even if they were as quiet as dove wings, they were words, the first time you wrote a sentence, even if you forgot the commas, then took a shower and brushed your hair. And let us not base these “first’s” on the fact that this is the first time you walked to your car and no one hurt you, but instead it is the first time you got behind the wheel and you drove, until the sky bled out like a beautiful gunshot wound, ...
Read more

Church

I was raised in a black glass church Where they told you it was see through That they never hid anything for it was made of glass But even if it is glass You cannot peer through black It's truth was feeble and thin  The glass broke into brittle iotas of the dark  With one fingertip pressed, and no blood spilled Only the blacken blood of the black glass church  Then I went to the church that was built out of sand  I thought this one would be better Since it was formed like a castle  With a red flag even posed on the top But who would have known That it was only for a show? Until the invertebrate blue waves Came hurtling in across the church of sand And the church became only a home for the tide once again I was about to give up when I found a rock to sit upon And it happened to be a church carved out of stone That didn't lie about its transparency And wasn't quite pretty enough to be for show So the church made of rock...
Read more