tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30053177011567113372024-03-05T19:08:52.700-06:00Navegaciones y RegresosA poetry blog.Lyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-61280571686799034482010-01-31T00:27:00.002-06:002010-01-31T00:27:30.609-06:00Story of LifeI have never<br />
loved anyone<br />
more.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-40718846486556109782010-01-30T17:36:00.002-06:002010-01-30T17:41:43.547-06:00We Made Love for DaysYour back arches upward<br />
<div>sweet woman of earth, do you know how beautiful you are?</div><div>These fingers, they dance downward across aching flesh</div><div>My mouth, seeking flavor</div><div>I find it there and </div><div>oh, honey, please can I have it?</div><div><br />
</div><div>The beauty of your curves</div><div>openings</div><div>how I seek to explore every solitary</div><div>beautiful</div><div>inch</div><div>Making you ache..</div><div>makes me ache.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Lips hover closely over flesh as </div><div>ragged breath fills the air</div><div>I want to crush you to me</div><div>fill you</div><div><br />
</div><div>this love it swells inside me</div><div>like water pouring over an edge it crashes on us</div><div>lovers entwined like vines</div><div><br />
</div><div>I want your taste to linger</div><div>I want you to leave your marks on my shoulders</div><div>to feel your</div><div>legs </div><div>wrapped around, tugging closer</div><div><br />
</div><div>More places than one</div><div>we entwine and combine love with lust</div><div><br />
</div><div>we are swept away together</div><div><br />
</div><div>Your sweet taste lingers</div><div>and inside I feel you lock around my</div><div>touch</div><div>pushing ever further to the heart of you</div><div>I'm seeking treasure no one has found</div><div><br />
</div><div>I know you so well, every muscle and nerve</div><div>and that place that makes your voice cry out </div><div>reckless</div><div>as you thunder, quake, crash against</div><div>beneath me</div><div>slowly grinding down</div><div>as your heart crashes against your ribs</div><div>and your eyes roll into the blackness of your eyelids</div><div>and you cry out my name in love<br />
<br />
tears in your eyes, you crush me to you and whisper<br />
"Oh baby, I love you so much, I love you"<br />
and we kiss like this is the last time we will ever make love.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I whisper my love against damp flesh</div><div>and my sweet woman of earth</div><div>we made love for days.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Ly Hansen</div>Lyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-68781321712831859552010-01-28T02:18:00.001-06:002010-01-28T02:22:09.340-06:00Erin Leigh HansenHey Mom?<br />
I can't sleep tonight.<br />
Do you remember coming into my room<br />
when you couldn't sleep<br />
and jumping on my bed that late night?<br />
You woke me up with laughter and a plea,<br />
"yeah, I'll come sit with you."<br />
Some conversation while you had a smoke.<br />
<br />
Did you know, you were my best friend?<br />
Did you know how beautiful you were?<br />
<br />
We don't talk about you much<br />
I'm ashamed to say.<br />
I'm trying my best.<br />
It's been 2 years.<br />
<br />
My chest burns a little when I think about you<br />
he took the pictures down, except for a few.<br />
<br />
It's only been 2 years.<br />
Has it really been 2 years?<br />
Almost, anyway.<br />
<br />
I wonder...why did it happen so close to<br />
I wonder...why did it happen?<br />
<br />
Winter seems darker without you<br />
There's a knot in my throat.<br />
<br />
Did you know, they didn't even mention me in your eulogy?<br />
I guess the "step" in stepdaughter means<br />
I was a step down.<br />
<br />
You know, I think everyone knew we were best friends<br />
How else can you describe two people who<br />
knew every little secret, laughed at all the right things<br />
like the person who fell on the stairs<br />
and swung upright to the other side of the railing<br />
"Woop!" you sounded, and we fell together in laughter.<br />
<br />
Laughter...<br />
It resonates in all my memories of you<br />
all the good ones, anyway.<br />
I wish I could hear you laugh again.<br />
<br />
Hey Mom?<br />
I can't sleep tonight<br />
I'm crying a little<br />
and my throat aches, burns<br />
I'm afraid to call out to you<br />
because I know you're gone<br />
2 years too long.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-9193615027924452432010-01-18T22:36:00.000-06:002010-01-18T22:36:41.510-06:00Conversation Piece(do you wanna come home?)<br />
yes<br />
(how bad?)<br />
bad.<br />
(tell me...i need to hear you)<br />
very bad.<br />
it hurts sometimes.<br />
(all the time?)<br />
i hurt all the time.<br />
i'm lost.<br />
alone.<br />
i hurt all the time.<br />
(come home)<br />
ok.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-42602219147416086272010-01-17T17:01:00.000-06:002010-01-17T17:01:32.825-06:00UngrownLittle girl with the long hair<br />
you are unfamiliar to me<br />
you feel as distant to me as the ocean.<br />
I don't remember who you were<br />
I don't remember you<br />
Any recollection I have is foggy<br />
although I remember<br />
<br />
sitting on top of my play house<br />
singing Madonna, loudly<br />
or the secret panel of carpet<br />
where we hid things away from everyone else<br />
like the Daffy Duck figurine<br />
or secret notes to the girl I had a crush on.<br />
<br />
Who was I?<br />
that little girl, she's like a stranger<br />
do normal people<br />
forget their childhood?<br />
<br />
I wonder what you would think of me now<br />
little girl, little me<br />
who I have become<br />
who we have become<br />
<br />
If I sat next to you as you<br />
shoved your fingers in the little blue holes on that bench<br />
and told you all we were going to experience<br />
all the times you would laugh, cry.<br />
I would tell you that nothing lasts forever<br />
and you would forever be the person<br />
I was trying to get back to.<br />
Your name to me now<br />
is innocence, bliss.<br />
<br />
I wonder in some alternate universe<br />
if there's a little girl<br />
who looks just like me<br />
young forever, with Peter Pan's lost boys<br />
living happily.<br />
<br />
I wonder if you'd believe me<br />
if I told you everything we are now<br />
if you'd believe me when I told you<br />
I still don't know who I am<br />
who we are, and that<br />
you...little Lisa, probably knew more then<br />
about us<br />
about me<br />
than I know about me now.<br />
<br />
Little child with a heart unopened<br />
unbruised, unbroken<br />
Little child, little me<br />
I miss you.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-80824694595924895342010-01-15T07:44:00.000-06:002010-01-15T07:44:58.598-06:00My Only QuestionI miss waiting for your plane to land<br />
wringing my hands together nervously<br />
eagerly (but calmly) resting against the wall<br />
adjusting my tie several times<br />
searching the oncoming faces for yours<br />
until you fly into my arms<br />
quaking like a leaf.<br />
<br />
We had these plans<br />
I hate to let them go.<br />
Are you coming home?<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-76968400234292651072010-01-11T08:34:00.003-06:002010-01-11T12:54:15.439-06:00ClumsyOur clumsy hands keep reaching<br />
desperately<br />
for one another, trudging through the quicksand<br />
Don't you see, it's swallowing us whole?<br />
That desperation, that plea deep inside us both<br />
is poisoning us.<br />
<br />
We've been fighting for this for so long<br />
I look at our future, I used to see<br />
more.<br />
Now I begin to think<br />
it could always be like this<br />
<br />
struggling like weights in mud<br />
trying to move trying to get back<br />
to you<br />
only to find when I finally crawl<br />
to the edge of the quicksand<br />
there's nothing to grab onto.<br />
<br />
And that's okay<br />
maybe this obstacle<br />
maybe this time God's saying<br />
"look at what you're doing"<br />
<br />
maybe He's telling me<br />
"the time isn't right, yet."<br />
maybe it's too soon<br />
too little to run away with<br />
too few reasons to run away to<br />
yet.<br />
<br />
It's not severing, you see<br />
it's not letting go<br />
it's readjusting it's reassessing<br />
it's postponing the final date.<br />
<br />
I postpone these dreams<br />
these wishes this desire I had<br />
to return home to<br />
the desert<br />
to our shadows splayed in the sand.<br />
The time<br />
isn't right.<br />
<br />
I postpone my reaching for the stars because<br />
if it's this hard to get back to you<br />
if we keep tripping over every dip in the sand<br />
can we find our footing when<br />
the hammer falls?<br />
<br />
I feel content in knowing<br />
I have you<br />
we still remain<br />
painted in the desert<br />
shades of something<br />
transcendental.<br />
<br />
We have these dreams, we're so eager<br />
and<br />
we've run over each other<br />
trampled one another<br />
trying to get to the other<br />
without even realizing<br />
<br />
we threw logic out the window<br />
let gravity pull us where it would<br />
<br />
my impulses told me to go<br />
but now my logic tells me<br />
it's time to open my eyes<br />
and see that<br />
it's not time to go<br />
yet.<br />
<br />
If the time is right<br />
the shades will combine, intertwine<br />
without having<br />
to fight all of heaven and earth<br />
to get there.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-69318262282989420692010-01-11T08:19:00.000-06:002010-01-11T08:19:07.031-06:00Haiku's ConfessionI almost managed<br />
to convince myself we would<br />
could be so much more.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-29289475649080834012010-01-07T19:09:00.000-06:002010-01-07T19:09:54.563-06:00Intermission 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.picfor.me/001EF9E/Free-Fantasy-Wallpaper-Steampunk-Landscape-city-landscape-fantasy-dark-steam-Wild-Art-Fanasy_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://media.picfor.me/001EF9E/Free-Fantasy-Wallpaper-Steampunk-Landscape-city-landscape-fantasy-dark-steam-Wild-Art-Fanasy_large.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've begun a third sister blog -- this one is to host my fiction and prose that I write. Mostly, it's to host a science-fiction story I've begun to write in installations based in a futuristic, steampunk-inspired industrial city called World City, chronicling the story of an Anarchist leader named Coyote.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You can find the first installation at my fiction/prose blog:<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lystories.blogspot.com/">Storyteller</a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Please take a pit-stop over there and see what you think of the first installation (up today).<br />
</div>Lyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-13117793218301680912010-01-05T19:57:00.000-06:002010-01-05T19:57:12.770-06:00Intermission 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPZCb_GGAsU2v_md3CmKqyOx3qq9IvFQjvRl18WKx4nfQKixs674G5lJRlhSZ88cyKCY9Olm30kXNNlKu9bfPysqkjT1issY2nLRhK7WMaIFKUDQTB84u2i_jKN_xve0fW2vITfNF7G-Y/s1600-h/55170689.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPZCb_GGAsU2v_md3CmKqyOx3qq9IvFQjvRl18WKx4nfQKixs674G5lJRlhSZ88cyKCY9Olm30kXNNlKu9bfPysqkjT1issY2nLRhK7WMaIFKUDQTB84u2i_jKN_xve0fW2vITfNF7G-Y/s320/55170689.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My other love in life, besides God and poetry, are tattoos. I took this as soon as I got home tonight from the tattoo shop. It's my seventh tattoo (which is perfect since the number 7 is a holy number) and covers up the one side of my right arm that didn't have anything on it.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'm so excited. :) <br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And back to regular programming. ;)<br />
</div>Lyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-71414955089069622432010-01-04T18:07:00.001-06:002010-01-04T18:07:51.869-06:00A Poetic Reaction to JudgementDon't you look at my art and call it by<br />
a name that doesn't fit it<br />
I don't hold you accountable for your judgements<br />
because you can't penetrate this wall I have built <br />
with my words.<br />
<br />
My art is solid<br />
my words are truth <br />
Call me what you will<br />
<br />
because I will not hold you accountable<br />
for what society has taught you to see<br />
Open your eyes, observer<br />
Open your heart to my message<br />
<br />
My art is my soul<br />
written on paper, digitally imprinted <br />
in this new society where everything is supposed<br />
to fit<br />
into 140 characters or less<br />
<br />
into vanity, into selfishness, into faithlessness<br />
constant questioning constant begging for answers<br />
You will not find your truth on a computer screen<br />
you will not find yourself in some box that you call<br />
"we"<br />
<br />
that box is a chain holding you to ground that shakes<br />
shatters and swallows you whole<br />
anything that means something to you<br />
may mean nothing to me.<br />
<br />
I don't claim to be sane, I don't claim to make<br />
masterpieces<br />
I only claim to tell the truth<br />
my truth.<br />
<br />
And the truth is<br />
my heart is full of this poetry<br />
of these words and of this desire <br />
to open somebody's eyes<br />
to say "Hello! You are who you are, and I am who I am."<br />
<br />
Stop running stop hiding behind your makeup<br />
behind your words behind your swagger<br />
Who are you when you take away everything?<br />
When I take away everything, I am poetry<br />
Who are you when you have nothing but your heart?<br />
When I have nothing my heart, I speak, I write<br />
<br />
When you lie alone at night what do you feel?<br />
<br />
I tell you what I feel<br />
I hear my poetry in the sky<br />
I hear my words in the stars as they sound above me<br />
like symphonies, trumpets<br />
<br />
I don't write smut<br />
I don't write anything that you would call it<br />
I write<br />
my truth.<br />
<br />
My faith.<br />
<br />
My faith lingers in this art that we call poetry<br />
my strength my identity can only be found<br />
in writing this now<br />
Pouring over every word I have written<br />
like an archive, like a story of some other person.<br />
<br />
Don't look at my art as anything but mine<br />
don't hear these words in any other voice<br />
let mine resound in your ears and tell you<br />
<br />
I take my heart out of my chest<br />
I put it on this paper to share with you<br />
I write it on this screen, to share with the world<br />
I have placed it here before you not<br />
to earn your judgement<br />
but to show you<br />
<br />
this is my heart.<br />
these are my words.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-43427254091565920862010-01-03T22:58:00.001-06:002010-01-03T23:08:08.744-06:00To SeeI'm lying to you<br />
Today I don't feel anything<br />
empty<br />
like the corn silo I used to sit in.<br />
<br />
Today I feel overstimulated<br />
the clutter all around me gathering<br />
like a crowd, searching me for answers when<br />
I don't have any.<br />
<br />
Have you ever felt like gathering all your belongings<br />
in bags and tossing them<br />
over a bridge<br />
just to see what's left behind<br />
when you have nothing?<br />
I'd like to do that today.<br />
I feel cluttered, suffocated<br />
crowded by all these superficial answers<br />
<br />
I shake my head<br />
If I could go back to that corn silo<br />
where I used to sit on the bottom of a bucket<br />
just to hear the silence, to be alone<br />
feel the quiet in the dark<br />
I would.<br />
This clutter<br />
these false, superficial solutions are making me dizzy.<br />
<br />
I don't know what it is<br />
but the more I start to look around me<br />
the less I see.<br />
The more I stimulate the less I feel<br />
anything.<br />
I want to get rid of it all and start with nothing<br />
see who I am when I take away<br />
all the meaningless babble<br />
all the superficial solutions to my<br />
boredom, restlessness,<br />
lack of answers.<br />
<br />
You see, I have this bible in my hand<br />
and I know the answers are there.<br />
All the answers.<br />
Yet I sit here in this room with things that have no<br />
context? No..<br />
purpose.<br />
I have this bible in my hand and it's telling me<br />
"Here I am, I have your answers! I have all you need!"<br />
It's crying to me asking me to get on my knees<br />
and give it all back.<br />
It's telling me<br />
"I love you! I am your Father, I am your Life."<br />
<br />
Maybe that's what I heard in the corn silo<br />
in that silence, that soft reverie of my<br />
small footsteps<br />
clanging off the tin walls.<br />
That I didn't need anything but that silence<br />
I wouldn't find answers in all the things<br />
that I used for so long to define everything I thought<br />
that I was.<br />
<br />
This bible in my hand tells me,<br />
"You are Mine."<br />
<br />
I feel restless in all this clutter<br />
It would be absolutely ridiculous right now<br />
to go downstairs and get rid of everything people have spent their money on,<br />
for me.<br />
It would be a waste. It was already a waste.<br />
<br />
I yearn for spring, my new beginning,<br />
Where I can take my restlessness to the highway<br />
all the things I might need in the back of a pickup truck<br />
strapped down like a foundation to begin upon.<br />
Tonight I feel overstimulated...<br />
cluttered.<br />
<br />
Let me take a minute to tell you...confess<br />
When I younger I used to<br />
play "orphans," pretend I was a little kid who had nothing<br />
but the clothes on her back.<br />
I used to believe I belonged in a monastery somewhere<br />
in a room with a bed and a desk<br />
a bible, pen, and journal.<br />
In silence.<br />
<br />
This bible in my hand<br />
says, "Be patient. I will take you home soon."<br />
<br />
I want to make the noise stop<br />
all this clutter is making me dizzy.<br />
All the things that mean nothing<br />
taking the place of the one thing<br />
that means everything.<br />
<br />
This bible in my hand says<br />
"This is what the world looks like<br />
when you open your eyes."<br />
<br />
I saw a vision once in the midst of prayer<br />
I started to cry.<br />
I've never cried so hard, or so long.<br />
I saw these millions, billions of people,<br />
hands splayed, crying...crying...<br />
and they were so lost. I cried for them<br />
<br />
I see through the solid, I see through your possessions<br />
your clinging to people who can never love you<br />
the way that you want to be loved.<br />
Endlessly...we want to be loved endlessly<br />
and it was offered to you<br />
long ago<br />
in blood<br />
on a cross on Calvary Hill.<br />
Yet it lays there, the offering,<br />
and your fist is closed.<br />
<br />
You collect these things, your image, your definition,<br />
your anger, your misplaced disappointment,<br />
your endless chatter and complaints<br />
your sense of self from everything that is made to replace<br />
that which cannot be replaced.<br />
You hold on to your vanity, you hold on to "why doesn't anyone love me?"<br />
<br />
I pose this question to you, you who sits among your mental and physical clutter:<br />
Is God's love not enough?<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-46478561313752179952010-01-03T17:38:00.001-06:002010-01-05T19:57:46.314-06:00Intermission 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://c1.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images02/17/l_f3f8bc8012f24191a30eecf806aa3fd8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ps="true" src="http://c1.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images02/17/l_f3f8bc8012f24191a30eecf806aa3fd8.jpg" width="235" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So, I've started a personal blog to document my journey to return to the desert with only what I'll be able to fit in my truck and probably only enough money to make it into Idaho. Feel free to swing over to <a href="http://lyhansen.blogspot.com/">The Greater Journey Home</a>. Right now I only have one blog up. When I get to Idaho though, I'll be posting a lot of pictures, writing a lot about my struggles there, in general documenting the journey to return home with few means. <br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Now, back to our normal programming.<br />
</div>Lyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-82837909302300127522010-01-02T03:17:00.001-06:002010-01-02T03:18:41.493-06:00Sparks Fly from FingertipsYou ignited this fire<br />
lit this match...<br />
<br />
Here I go into another unknown<br />
with visions of passion<br />
and sparks like living spirits between us.<br />
<br />
I don't know who you are<br />
to bring such sparks, <br />
such sudden chemistry in hand<br />
but I am lost in your heat<br />
and the way your eyes<br />
match your smile.<br />
<br />
Some expert craftswoman<br />
bending this soft butch to your will<br />
coaxing the sweet responses<br />
holding sparks in your palm like magic<br />
hiding them in plain sight<br />
tossing them at me<br />
one by one.<br />
<br />
that flirtation in your smile tells me<br />
you want me<br />
to think<br />
that I am in control<br />
but we both know<br />
<br />
let's play the game, then.<br />
because I am not in control<br />
<br />
but for now we will pretend that I am<br />
as I pull your chair out for you<br />
and your eyes flicker behind<br />
to catch mine<br />
alight with flame.<br />
Sparks fly from your fingertips<br />
as they catch my arm in passing<br />
gratitude or<br />
seduction<br />
<br />
An old-fashioned romance<br />
here begins<br />
a new-age adventure<br />
down another path<br />
the unknown of what spirit<br />
intention<br />
lies behind every spark<br />
that you flick from <br />
your fingertips<br />
in my direction.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-54925670326068770782010-01-02T02:11:00.001-06:002010-01-02T02:13:27.031-06:00ShudderYou moved like a shadow, a shade,<br />
Beauty through fog, haze<br />
and you made me dizzy.<br />
Make...<br />
present tense. You make<br />
<br />
remind me of a face long ago<br />
A smile I saw upon another set of<br />
luscious<br />
lips.<br />
Oh those lips how I imagine<br />
the heady breath against my own<br />
like a force to be matched<br />
a challenge.<br />
<br />
Give our passion no boundary<br />
hold it to no standard<br />
let it spew like fire from the core of<br />
lust love passion desire<br />
want.<br />
<br />
Want.<br />
heavy and thick<br />
Want.<br />
Pervading every pore<br />
Leaving your taste on my lips.<br />
<br />
In a vision we move like a vibration<br />
in the earth's very core<br />
Shuddering through every layer<br />
every sinew, muscle, shuddering<br />
every synapse firing alive<br />
startling me to life<br />
reminding me of <br />
<br />
This desert heat calls to me<br />
I saw you like a mirage dancing<br />
before my eyes and calling<br />
calling my name like a sweet prayer.<br />
<br />
We move in this vision like shades collapsing<br />
colliding, crashing, writhing.<br />
<br />
I miss the desert heat<br />
the mirage of the Lord standing on the mountain<br />
smiling down upon our two shadows<br />
as they fell to the sand and stretched.<br />
<br />
It becomes this unconnected<br />
film, scratching like an aged beauty<br />
<br />
it comes through clear, <br />
your voice crying my name,<br />
and the earth shuddering <br />
at our reawakening.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-29316633789977127292009-12-26T20:29:00.001-06:002009-12-26T20:32:33.119-06:00Traces of FireLet's paint visions of passion and spread our lust<br />
(love)<br />
like fire across the land,<br />
leave traces of your noises and my strength in the air.<br />
Don't hold back<br />
I want to hear your voice<br />
<br />
deep in the sky<br />
resonating with the stars<br />
two shadows entwined and<br />
writhing<br />
please<br />
<br />
Let's set this place on fire<br />
dance like silhouettes against sand<br />
hot summer sun<br />
burning<br />
burning<br />
burning us alive<br />
<br />
set me on fire<br />
I wanna set you on fire<br />
let's do this the right way<br />
<br />
beg me for<br />
my strength and passion<br />
beg me for a flood<br />
(don't put out the fire)<br />
beg me<br />
<br />
I am your panther<br />
predator holding you to the ground<br />
I have no claws but<br />
muscles and flesh they<br />
tremble as I keep you down<br />
<br />
I'll set you on fire and you'll<br />
cry outloud<br />
my name on your lips like<br />
the Holy Spirit just awoke your soul<br />
<br />
I see curves and<br />
flesh crashing<br />
the endless tidal wave<br />
crashing to shore and<br />
pulling back<br />
again.<br />
<br />
Let's set this land on fire,<br />
press my lips to your damp skin<br />
let's set this earth on fire<br />
show them what it's like<br />
to be consumed<br />
<br />
Pulling closer,<br />
crashing together<br />
two shades they crash<br />
the desire to meld forever in this<br />
carnal dance.<br />
<br />
Make noise, make all the noise<br />
I want them to hear<br />
while you feel<br />
my strength and my<br />
quick coaxing to the edge<br />
<br />
my nimble fingers<br />
your legs wrapped<br />
the wood thuds<br />
thuds<br />
thuds<br />
against the wall<br />
Leave marks, leave marks on me<br />
dig fingernails into me<br />
Sweet sensation of your pleading in my ear<br />
<br />
Your fire is out of control and I will<br />
devour every<br />
blessed inch every damp inch<br />
your legs wrapped<br />
your pleas tumbling into my ear<br />
<br />
Is your heart crashing?<br />
I feel it crashing against mine<br />
or is that your flesh<br />
crashing<br />
into mine?<br />
<br />
Let it go now<br />
<br />
And there you fall, fall endlessly only to find<br />
you are still wrapped in my arms<br />
catch your breath<br />
before I set you on fire again.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-73129793982165035342009-12-25T18:56:00.003-06:002009-12-25T19:02:18.197-06:00Intoxication of a ButchI have to admit, here before you<br />
I cannot explain why<br />
I must look away from your<br />
Dark, magnetic eyes<br />
<br />
<br />
You intoxicate<br />
Slip into my mind and sieze control<br />
You overpower completely<br />
You look at me and<br />
I feel your hot breath<br />
On my neck<br />
Like sweet flames rolling over flesh<br />
Rolling over me<br />
taking over me<br />
<br />
<br />
You caught me<br />
By the tie as you passed<br />
Murmured something<br />
Hotly<br />
Against my ear<br />
<br />
<br />
Visions, torrents swelled up. Inside<br />
Torrents<br />
Predictions<br />
<br />
<br />
Lips upon my own<br />
Draining my resistance<br />
Making me sink against you<br />
As any butch should when<br />
Hy finds the<br />
Perfect<br />
Femme<br />
<br />
<br />
You kissed me with the<br />
Passion of all my<br />
Lovers combined<br />
<br />
<br />
Fingers graze the back of my neck<br />
I am helpless<br />
I see skin against skin and<br />
My better senses<br />
Take over<br />
My hands slide to cup<br />
Rounded flesh<br />
And I<br />
Seize control.<br />
<br />
<br />
Kiss you soft,<br />
Slow, as tender as<br />
A gentle breeze,<br />
Graze your cheek with a<br />
Shivering touch.<br />
<br />
<br />
I answer your lust<br />
With romance.<br />
<br />
<br />
Lips hover<br />
You are breathless<br />
Hazy as they attempt to open<br />
Chest heaving<br />
Shaking beneath my touch<br />
And your hand slips from my tie.<br />
<br />
<br />
I straighten it carefully and murmur<br />
"What a dame,"<br />
And press my lips to your cheek<br />
With promises of future encounters.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-11673507015188757802009-12-24T09:12:00.000-06:002009-12-24T09:12:51.256-06:00Holiday Wishes (from Ly)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOy6MBh18iaQPlAULRIR2hj06h94GhWbXoyEyUbEc84xpbRJe8Ymgv1CWohemsgVBBphLWXxyxPaXdrsbT6Nhpg6t48wduh5cIEWTOZ78E0gOiOJ_VYxWSjXNjWcfIYeuau98PTdz7ihUt/s1600-h/51563843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOy6MBh18iaQPlAULRIR2hj06h94GhWbXoyEyUbEc84xpbRJe8Ymgv1CWohemsgVBBphLWXxyxPaXdrsbT6Nhpg6t48wduh5cIEWTOZ78E0gOiOJ_VYxWSjXNjWcfIYeuau98PTdz7ihUt/s400/51563843.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A brief intermission to say, I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Back to our regular programming soon.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Today it's Grandfather's house and father's Christmas after.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It all seems like a lot of hulabaloo over the wrong thing.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">God bless.<br />
</div>Lyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-42155151480733259102009-12-21T23:05:00.002-06:002009-12-21T23:13:53.990-06:00Progression of a Sex SceneLet's get drunk together, you and me<br />
Be irresponsible with me<br />
tonight.<br />
Forget about those obligations you had<br />
yesterday, or tomorrow's bills<br />
or the way you hate<br />
how cluttered<br />
your house is.<br />
<br />
Lock yourself in this room with me<br />
I'll open the wine bottle, you get the glasses<br />
And I'll take this moment to say<br />
I love your sweet smile<br />
and how there's always<br />
something<br />
fire<br />
heat<br />
pressing just behind it.<br />
<br />
Let's get drunk together, now<br />
spill our secrets to one another<br />
all our secret fears<br />
You'll giggle too much and<br />
I'll look at you a little more intensely<br />
than usual<br />
tell you in the best way that I can<br />
how you<br />
move me.<br />
<br />
Oh, how you move me<br />
I said let's get drunk together<br />
just because I like to see you<br />
smile, and giggle<br />
and forget about everyone but me.<br />
<br />
Or how about<br />
let's try something new<br />
let's get drunk together...<br />
<br />
my fingers tangle in your hair<br />
my lips against your skin where your pulse<br />
beats hardest<br />
and baby, it's fast, your pulse is so fast<br />
did I make you feel<br />
dizzy, like your room was spinning<br />
all around<br />
as my fingers guided your<br />
journey<br />
arched into<br />
and touching that place that makes you<br />
look at me in sweet<br />
sensual surprise.<br />
<br />
Did I make you feel like lightning<br />
like tidal waves crashing<br />
and down your walls with a single<br />
press of my lips to your<br />
damp skin<br />
Did I make you feel like<br />
you were a space traveller<br />
observing heavenly places where you and I<br />
often breathed, together<br />
<br />
Did I make you feel<br />
drunk, off my love<br />
off my touch<br />
Let's get drunk together<br />
throw your head back<br />
my fingers trace over your<br />
beautiful throat where your life<br />
thuds hard in response to my<br />
other hand.<br />
<br />
Let's get drunk together<br />
so I can make your head spin too<br />
because seeing that<br />
fire inside your eyes or the slight<br />
curve of your lips that tell me<br />
you are about to pounce<br />
and I will have no choice<br />
Let's get drunk together<br />
<br />
because even without a touch<br />
you make my head spin<br />
and torrents of our<br />
heated whispers and pleas<br />
fill my head like fog.<br />
<br />
You arch<br />
hard, draw me into<br />
that place that makes you<br />
cry out-loud recklessly<br />
your skin damp against my fingers<br />
your chest heaving<br />
your perfect sounds tell me<br />
that we are drunk together<br />
as we drink in<br />
one another<br />
and devour the night's hours.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-34024911338258634132009-12-21T15:46:00.001-06:002009-12-21T15:49:43.563-06:00DesertDry summer heat made my skin red,<br />
<div>in those three weeks I spent with you..<br />
</div><div>I wore that sunburn like a badge of pride<br />
</div><div>My whitewashed Tsalagi skin was warm for a while<br />
</div><div>with you.<br />
</div><div>Your hair flew in the desert breeze<br />
</div><div>deep brown and red flames against the backdrop of deep blue sky.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>You laughed, at nothing,<br />
</div><div>a laugh of pure happiness and knowing this too<br />
</div><div>was something you may never forget<br />
</div><div>(I hope you don't).<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>What we must have looked like<br />
</div><div>two people overwhelmed with an earthly joy<br />
</div><div>at being free<br />
</div><div>flying through the desert<br />
</div><div>like those eagles we saw, flying above volcanic mountains.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>It was so hot that day, I remember,<br />
</div><div>but I wore a sweater, still<br />
</div><div>to protect the tattoo I got<br />
</div><div>a panther with blue eyes.<br />
</div><div>I'd never seen anything so beautiful<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>the pale sun glowing through strands<br />
</div><div>of your flying hair<br />
</div><div>the sagebrush spotted across barren sand<br />
</div><div>and mountains in the distance<br />
</div><div>mountains that I swore<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>I swore the mountains were<br />
</div><div>like music, symphonies rising against the sky<br />
</div><div>and an eagle flew above the volcanic black<br />
</div><div>keeping pace with<br />
</div><div>our hearts, I think.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>I remember you crawling<br />
</div><div>on the ground like you had suddenly become twelve again<br />
</div><div>half of your body in the branches of a bush<br />
</div><div>sand on your jeans, as you tried to catch<br />
</div><div>that one little lizard, that probably would have<br />
</div><div>made me jump, anyway.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>I giggled, in my masculine way, and pulled you out<br />
</div><div>told you to stand<br />
</div><div>and we went searching for beauty in the rocks<br />
</div><div>(I secretly prayed that we would find that, and not a snake)<br />
</div><div>a white marble rock, or a deep amber<br />
</div><div>I placed a few in my pockets<br />
</div><div>like they could solidify my memories and<br />
</div><div>make them permanent.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>I told you, standing against some boulder<br />
</div><div>staring up at the flat top of the mountains<br />
</div><div>watching over us like giants,<br />
</div><div>the white cross in the distance<br />
</div><div>(God's little reminder)<br />
</div><div>I told you<br />
</div><div>I never wanted to go back<br />
</div><div>never wanted any of it<br />
</div><div>to end.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>I felt my longing like the summer heat<br />
</div><div>in which we stood, together<br />
</div><div>drawn like magnets<br />
</div><div>two shadows thrown across<br />
</div><div>the desert sand,<br />
</div><div>no space between my silhouette<br />
</div><div>and yours.<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Nothing was ever so beautiful as the desert<br />
</div><div>and in the best three weeks of my life<br />
</div><div>we left traces of our joy in the sand.<br />
<br />
Ly Hansen<br />
</div>Lyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-5070894464698915902009-12-20T17:22:00.001-06:002009-12-20T17:23:46.827-06:00Borderline ApologiesI have to apologize, today, here<br />
You see, something's wrong with me<br />
chemically.<br />
I don't know what exactly, because I can't name<br />
the chemicals or the receptors that aren't there or aren't<br />
functioning properly.<br />
<br />
You see, you get frustrated with something and<br />
that's the end of it<br />
But my frustration will roll like a tidal wave<br />
over and over, and become a force that even<br />
I can't control<br />
<br />
These words tumble out of my mouth<br />
like a lot of little accidents all piling up in<br />
the middle of a street, stacking one on top of the other<br />
until one misspoke word becomes an entire night<br />
of my apologies and my mistakes<br />
<br />
and I don't like to complicate things<br />
I don't like to complain or hold my art<br />
in chains of misery or sadness<br />
my art is beautiful and this poetry is<br />
a celebration<br />
like fireworks yearning to touch the moon<br />
<br />
but today<br />
today my art becomes this<br />
memory from the past about<br />
being angsty and pathetic and<br />
being that stupid little girl<br />
in middle school<br />
who couldn't cope with life<br />
or hold herself accountable.<br />
<br />
this is me holding myself<br />
accountable<br />
to all the little mistakes I have made today<br />
all the apologies I owe<br />
because of this monster inside my brain<br />
that stomps and fumes and hurts<br />
hurts..<br />
<br />
this defect inside my brain that makes me<br />
borderline<br />
borderline between sane and insane<br />
between stable and an earthquake<br />
hammering at my foundations and making me<br />
step over that line into<br />
the wrong side.<br />
borderline between<br />
my apologies and my mistakes<br />
<br />
I have this monster that lives in my brain, you see<br />
it makes everything all wrong when there's<br />
nothing wrong...<br />
or if there is, it makes it into<br />
an apocalypse.<br />
I have this monster that tells me to panic<br />
to be angry, to blame to...<br />
<br />
it's all wrong. it's all wrong and<br />
I'm sorry.<br />
today is a borderline day where there's only time<br />
for my mistakes<br />
and these apologies.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-33275173130586021202009-12-17T09:41:00.001-06:002009-12-17T09:56:08.764-06:00Moonlight and the Sound of FallingOh, my fingers how they pressed so deeply into your flesh<br />
And how you reached, how you ached for me.<br />
<br />
I am here in a room I don't recognize, beside me<br />
a woman breathes deeply in her rest and I lie awake<br />
my arm draped around her<br />
<br />
Nights like this I remember you, your perfume<br />
Your skin damp with perspiration and my kisses<br />
remember being pressed together<br />
as if the closer we got, the less we could be taken apart<br />
<br />
The moonlight tumbles in over her flesh<br />
her hair splayed across my chest, and her pillow<br />
and I think how atrocious, how wrong<br />
how wrong that this lover is not you, that I can't even<br />
remember where I am<br />
<br />
I've searched for you in the faces of other lovers<br />
yearned for you against lips that were not yours<br />
their kisses were never the same.<br />
<br />
It's funny...<br />
<br />
the empty vodka bottle beside the bed<br />
I cannot make love to another woman sober anymore<br />
your intoxicating presence can't be matched<br />
no matter<br />
<br />
how much I drink, no matter how<br />
I try to pretend her flesh is yours<br />
her kisses<br />
her sweet form bent against mine<br />
in the moonlight.<br />
<br />
It feels cheap, filthy, I feel no more than<br />
a hooker in a dirty a motel room<br />
In this place I've never known yet<br />
looks so much like the other places I have been<br />
<br />
an Irish flag hangs on the wall<br />
<br />
her hair is deep red, not like yours<br />
her hair is bright like fire, spread across my arm<br />
but the irony is<br />
<br />
you set me on fire with heat like the sahara<br />
with just a breath<br />
<br />
but she...<br />
she's all wrong. her kisses her body stiff<br />
she says...<br />
I'm too rough<br />
it's been a while<br />
<br />
she's not you, doesn't feel<br />
like you<br />
she says I'm too rough<br />
and when I tease she<br />
gets angry.<br />
<br />
she's not you.<br />
<br />
I remember how it always seemed to be perfect, every time<br />
every hour spent laid in bed together soaking in the sweetness<br />
it seemed natural, like the flowing of river to the sea<br />
or musical notes<br />
<br />
that's what it was like<br />
a symphony in my bed rising and falling<br />
building to the point where<br />
<br />
you draw in your breath, grasp at my arm<br />
bury your teeth in my skin to silence the inevitable<br />
sound of falling<br />
<br />
You look surprised that someone could<br />
know you so well, bend you to my touch, my intention<br />
I draw it out of you like an artist draws images from<br />
paint or clay, subtle curves or a perfect line<br />
<br />
she's not you.<br />
she's angry and quick to tense<br />
She speaks harshly, smokes, uses me<br />
in the same way I was using her<br />
<br />
It feels dirty, in this room with a loose bedframe<br />
an Irish flag hanging on the wall<br />
like a cheap movie, a sad story<br />
<br />
she's about as pleasurable as the first woman<br />
who ever tried to melt that stone in me<br />
which is to say, I felt no pleasure at all<br />
I felt used, violated, abused under a hand that<br />
<br />
isn't yours.<br />
<br />
I gather my clothes, my phone.<br />
The room is still dark. <br />
She's asleep, wears a scowl<br />
loose red hair making her pale skin look<br />
like marble.<br />
<br />
And I think<br />
to someone, she must be beautiful.<br />
<br />
Someone else could have been gentler with her<br />
would have left the marks she pleaded for on<br />
her milky white skin<br />
<br />
I couldn't be who she wanted, needed<br />
we were two strangers tangled together<br />
in desperation<br />
<br />
she wasn't you<br />
I suppose I had to confirm that<br />
<br />
she didn't curve to my touch<br />
or match my every motion with hers<br />
<br />
she told me I was too rough<br />
but I think<br />
I was trying so hard to pretend<br />
<br />
She'll wake up without me this morning<br />
and after that we won't speak again.<br />
<br />
I feel cheap, baby, I feel dirty<br />
I feel desperate.<br />
<br />
I only wanted you, I only looked for you<br />
in the faces of other women, other<br />
lovers<br />
but none of them, not one<br />
was you.<br />
<br />
I remember delighting in your flesh<br />
attempting to draw every bit of your pleasure to my fingertips<br />
as if you and I had been made<br />
for this exactly, for this absolute state where I know<br />
never again will I find another lover so perfectly matched<br />
another lover who could find that place of<br />
deep contentment and endless need within me<br />
<br />
I recoil now, draw away from any hand that reaches for me<br />
or attempts to drag along my skin and press deep into that place.<br />
I recoil.<br />
<br />
I lay alone tonight<br />
and I recall every sound<br />
and I feel<br />
vulnerable and naked<br />
exposed before the many eyes<br />
of the many lovers who were not you<br />
and I think they must have known.<br />
<br />
The moonlight tumbles across my sheets<br />
where you should be<br />
I lay alone, press your shirt to my chest<br />
breathe in your perfume and hope<br />
that I'll dream of you, lover<br />
dream of your flesh<br />
and the sound of falling.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-33990503342766468382009-12-16T19:43:00.001-06:002009-12-16T20:15:35.301-06:00MinimalistTake a look around this cluttered, scattered bedroom<br />
A desk with four unread books, stories frozen at the place which the bookmark sits<br />
Two extra bookmarks without mates, a journal and a pen beside<br />
Door ajar, a coffee table full of books, movies, an unused lap-harp<br />
To match the unused keyboard against the wall.<br />
This place it seems messy, like unconnected thoughts and<br />
<br />
unfinished sentences, words collected together that don't match<br />
No punctuation, no end, merely all unfinished piled together<br />
A sketchbook, two books to<br />
release demons and understand how the Evil one oppresses<br />
Empty soda cans, a camera, a collection of essays on gender<br />
All these scattered like shells on a beach, shrapnel on a battlefield<br />
<br />
I sift through it all like sand, I search through each piece to understand<br />
Try to organize what can only exist in chaos.<br />
Where a lover should lay, rests my bible,<br />
and Pablo Neruda's haunting words that haven't stopped speaking since 1970<br />
There my dog sleeps, her chest in a careful rise-and-fall, whimpering until I nudge her<br />
and near, a remnant of childhood, a game meant to remind me how to be<br />
carefree and that it's okay to be unproductive sometimes.<br />
I feel like I have rested in this room forever, this room full of clutter and<br />
incomplete thoughts, incomplete definitions, incomplete goals<br />
In this room I feel there is too much, all the answers too complex.<br />
Yet I fear the day when I gather my backpack, my clothing<br />
My bible, my pillow, my blanket, a few luxuries, and my companion<br />
and leave the rest --<br />
all the rest...all the useless rest --<br />
to drive away from everything I have collected in my life<br />
into the grand unknown of<br />
a clean slate, basic survival<br />
<br />
homelessness (for a while), skipped meals, saving change<br />
sleeping in the back of my truck like a vagrant,<br />
where next to me will lay my bible, my poetry, my journal<br />
and my sleeping dog, her chest in a careful rise-and-fall.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-19112065849174903772009-12-16T01:58:00.001-06:002009-12-16T20:16:16.388-06:00A Prayer in AngerNo ounce of sweetness in this flesh exists, momentarily I am transformed.<br />
I breathe out my anger, feel my hatred like an entirely separate being.<br />
I look my anger in the eyes, she is so powerful and so full of rage,<br />
She is so full of venom it creeps across my skin like a tendril;<br />
<br />
I don't know this angry person, this person who can hate another human being.<br />
This jealous person is unfamiliar to me, I only know I wish she didn't exist.<br />
I close my eyes to pretend that penetrating gaze isn't mine;<br />
That angry person cannot be me, that hateful person cannot be.<br />
<br />
Hateful curses must not come out of the same mouth that sings praise<br />
It cannot be so, I will not let it be so, not tonight or ever again;<br />
Yet every time she rises in me like beast ignited by endless fire,<br />
Roaring and raging just under my vision, brow creased<br />
<br />
an incomplete sentence, hangs in the air. I let it go, I have to let it go,<br />
Let it go, let it, I beg you. Keep hold of me no longer, dark core poison me no longer;<br />
Poison me no longer, I denounce you from this flesh that refuses to rage<br />
Refusing to hate and envy and corrupt, I denounce my hatred.<br />
<br />
That hatred built a wall, solid and thick, standing firm to the sky;<br />
Behind, I claw, I cry, I beg and plead on my knees,<br />
Heavenly Father, Heavenly Father, take this darkness from my heart<br />
The burden is too heavy and I can take it no longer.<br />
<br />
On my knees, I beg, Heavenly Father, take it away now<br />
This anger no longer protects me, this distrust no longer defends me;<br />
This anger belongs to no one, it's held me for so long;<br />
Angry little beast lays before me in tears, she has shrunken before me,<br />
<br />
This angry mirror image, it cries before me and asks, "Why?"<br />
The creation of a past long gone, built by hands that were not mine or His<br />
Who is this angry beast who lays before me? This poor child<br />
of envy and darkness, who made her this way? Who would?<br />
<br />
The mirror image blinks, fades like a projection and I reach but<br />
My hands reach into empty air, finding nothing but understanding there;<br />
Please Lord, as I have begged so many nights until sleep overcame<br />
Please Lord, as I have wanted for so long, I want peace.<br />
<br />
I denounce, I release the beast named Anger, the cursed child of Envy,<br />
I release this stranger to the air, into the hands of God,<br />
This, these words, this is my release, my denouncement;<br />
I seek the sweetness again, the patience and adoration<br />
<br />
With my eyes turned upward, I pray for peace and patience<br />
I am not anger, I am not hate; the core of me is neither<br />
With my eyes turned upward, I pray for<br />
I pray for the breaking down of my defenses and the strength to surrender.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3005317701156711337.post-83351360853734594622009-12-15T01:28:00.001-06:002009-12-16T20:20:18.912-06:00Boy with a Pretty FacePalms pressed deeply against marble, fingers gripping the edge of the sink,<br />
Thick pressure in my head, pushes against the confines of my skull,<br />
Insistent, pounding, your never-ending questions start to probe<br />
What I know, what I thought, what I dreamed and held dear,<br />
<br />
These quiet, troubled brown eyes look into another face, another heart,<br />
Begging the question, "Who are you? Who are you?"<br />
Are you a boy with a pretty face? Are you a girl who wants to be Peter Pan?<br />
Are you the little girl in the alley, face pressed in the gravel, bleeding<br />
<br />
Eleven years ago, little broken girl lays in the dirt, the monster above her<br />
Hovering, breathing, panting, sick monster tearing,<br />
Eleven years ago, pretty little girl innocence lost,<br />
The world fades to black and the pretty little girl gets caught in that alley forever,<br />
<br />
Who are you? The question breathes against the mirror, brown eyes searching<br />
Who are you? Always always pressing at my skull, always asking<br />
Who are you? Stop asking me, you're driving me into darkness<br />
Who are you? Don't make me answer, don't make me explain<br />
<br />
I am a girl, who looks like a boy with a pretty face, a flat chest, brown eyes<br />
I am a survivor, a victim, wearing a binder to tie down my<br />
Memories and ghosts left in the past, left in the alley,<br />
I am nobody you knew, nobody you ever saw<br />
<br />
The question pounds and the little girl imprisoned<br />
Destroyed in that alley eleven years ago<br />
Stands before this mirror today, a tattooed survivor<br />
A stitched-together image of what I want to be<br />
<br />
I am a boy with a pretty face<br />
I am a girl who dresses like your brother<br />
I am genderless, formless, boundless<br />
I am who I want you to see<br />
<br />
Who are you? The mirror asks me, searches for an indication of<br />
My gender, but you are looking at the wrong thing, looking<br />
In the wrong place; if you want to find me<br />
Go back to that alley and there I will be<br />
<br />
Face pressed in the gravel, sucking in dirt, staining the rocks<br />
Attacked by a monster, a beast, a nightmare<br />
There I am, you see, that little girl with long hair and bright eyes<br />
There I am, becoming the little genderless one, safe in my refuge<br />
<br />
My genderless paradise where monsters never attack<br />
The pretty-faced boy, the girl who looks like Peter Pan<br />
Somehow beautiful in the gray, somehow brighter in the middle<br />
A boy with a pretty face, I will be who I want to be today.<br />
<br />
Ly HansenLyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05812118069338106613noreply@blogger.com0