Friday, June 24, 2011

desperado jones

ms. jones
you look thirsty...
would you care for a libation?
a lemon wedge of respect...
a lump of sugared self-love?
looks like you've been gallavanting
through the arid climate of need
choking off the desperation
of dried tumbleweeds
traipsing sack to back
holding ALL of his slack
taking two steps for him
while he takes five steps back...
my jones,
your eyes look weary
blinded, puffy and teary
from the fear
that, your grip will slip
and off with the next he'll dip...
clarity far off and away
like an oasis of promised days
the kids,
the home,
the hope that his words
are his bond
and your bond
with him
is sound...
*pats seat*
...sit, ms. jones...
drink up this tea
while i reveal he to thee...
your trek
is solo,
what's in your hump?
is all there is...
you will NOT be replenished!
the insecurity will NOT be diminished!
you will ALWAYS long for his core...
for more of him to explore
his words will always feel like heaven
beating up against the pain
the doubt
the memories you dwell in
you longing for
true consummation
needing to know
that you own the keys
to his deeply hidden needs
instead of leaving tracks
in sand
traversing through
the barren land of his, "I love you"
to find that he'll never concede...
ms. desperado jones...
if only you knew
that your
cocky assuredness
that you are the sole recipient
of his evaporating affections
was mere uneasiness
displayed to mask weakness
drink this...
take this soul concoction i'm serving
drink it slow,
so as not to burn your tongue...
and learn a thing or two about you...
and your desire to chase the ever elusive one...
stop this...
misguided trip
this quest to be his best...
when he's holding someone else close to his chest...
(you know that's always the story, right?)
you're chasing him...
he's chasing her...
no one's chasing you...
if i were you babygirl...
the moment i returned from this trip around the world...
my first order of biz?
...a name change.

in the butterfly net...

i ink...i flow...i pen,
my soul, my words, my zen