naked inside out

there’s something so free,
so vulnerable
about being [a woman]
underneath the weight of a man
limbs spread as wide
as her wanting can take them…
so aroused by the hands on her skin, 
his mouth covering hers…breathing for her
as he sucks her tongue
searching her mouth for a flavor too good to label…
creating chilled vibes,
raised and sensitive to touch
…it’s as open as one gets…
the treasure’s chest
unlocked, open and glistening with her value
being plundered over and over
stroking parts unreachable
scratching itches that fingers can’t feel
back arched
naked and nude
receiving and giving
nothing but air, sweat and pheromones between you…

to be open
the door of her sex unhinged…
is the sexiness
freedom
trust and sweet oblivion
that brings delight
to being naked…
inside out.


© 2013 Kween Kiwi 

poem #11: it's like that?

so
you are
just going to
keep it this way?
you're okay with the silence?

you...
don't see
how things could've
at one time...changed
had you just said something?

"I"
have to
ALWAYS speak first
the one to change
apologize, clarify and then justify?

I
am sick
to damn death
of folks creating space
and being angry about it later!

Am
I not
worthy of you...
your love and concern?
your loyalty, remorse, compassion or time?

OR
is this
a show of
your own personal guilt
and reticence to claim accountability?

just
make sure
you tell it
the way it happened
including your own part, too...

DON'T
make me
your scapegoat excuse
and label me bad
because I served zero fucks...

...and yea...it's like that...and that's the way it is.


© 2013 Kween Kiwi 

poems #12-30: i ain't finish

okay, okay
i ain't finish...
i'm sorry
what'chu want?
i told y'all this wasn't going well
hell,
i wrote three or more "po' me's" about it...

don't hold it against me
don't judge my pen...
it ran out of [th]ink
couldn't find anyone
who could sell me a refill

so, i apologize for this month
and every one before it,
where my page's pages
whipped empty in the e-wind
blank,
with no penciled impressions

maybe next year...
maybe not even that far away
just maybe,
some other day
i'll finish

for now...i ain't. :/


© 2013 Kween Kiwi 

poem #10: broken pen

i'm not so sure if i'm blocked
or just building them
my pen is pushed by passion
so am i passion-less?
less of a scribe,
because i can't ride a vibe?
been sitting on a lot
of parked prose
and idle lines
nothing fulfilling
the flame of a furied pen turning to ash
not a thing
to catapult me into the throes
the words...
they used to roll like
big mama's panty line
like papa's stone
like a classic caddy on chrome
like damn...
when will it return?
can it be,
my days as a poet
have waned
and i didn't know it?
did i miss the hint
had i never owned this gift
was it just divinely lent?
do i need to be in love,
have my heart wrung dry
just to scribble out fraught lines?
can't you see?
every poem is one of literal longing
beseeching my pen
or ruing love's end
and i want more...
i want epic
classic
timeless
poetry for posterity
and i can't even write without
writing out
my pen's black out!

pray for my pen


© 2013 Kween Kiwi 

poem #9: always and never

i realized the other night,

that i am still in love with you...

...subconsciously

no matter whose heart shape i trace

or who manages to nuzzle into mine...

in dream time...

my love is yours

the way we fit

[in my dreams]

is the way we fit, then...

and in spite of the reality

that is my awake state

of not wanting you

or needing you

...in my dreams

you're ever present

and a calm to my chaos

my left finger

is always weighted with your promise

and in my slumber...

i hunger to bear your seeds

and i've even dreamed that

you've saved me...

called my name,

as i lay dying in suspended time,

and i woke right up

heart beating

with memories of your hand in mine

why it is that

in the day's light

i'm immune to you

is beyond conscious reason that

i still manage to traipse through

painted dream scenes

with you and mostly you

i realize,

that maybe i'm just in love with nostalgia

and in my dreams...

you're on constant rewind

in a time

where you were all i knew

and now that my eyes are open

 i can't un-see

the unworthiness of you

the way you'll always do what you do

so, i dream you

in perfect state

far better than the truth

which i shake loose

when i awake and remember,

i can never love you again

© 2011 Kween Kiwi

poem #8: midnight oil

As midnight creeps in...
tipping lightly around my awareness
I sit in still thought
pondering
how it is I could've been a fool
looped tightly around his middle finger
while he fucked over my love...

Regret plays blaring notes
on my heart
convincing me in a moment
of temporary ire
that I shouldn't have ever made his acquaintance
that, his invite
should have been declined
ignored
blocked
and forgotten...
but, then...
I come to...
not wanting to trade a single
word,
minute,
affectation,
dream,
notion,
or hope

Even as I tread forward...
finished with uncertainty
and open-ended breaks,
I see how his place
was invaluable
and classically meaningful...
glad to have undergone
another metamorphosis
causing the rebirth
of the original butterfly's freedom flight...
knowing now,
the depths of my love
patience
and heart's core...

It was all a deliberate process
of loving
learning
lavishing in and about
life...
for a fleeting,
yet eternal time frame...
he brought the biggest of smiles,
heartiest of laughs,
warmest concerns...
and the most guttural
and painful tears...
every nuance of agony
a cracking in my cocoon
giving way to unique
elegantly splashed
brighter,
more expansive
and intensely colored wings

I will always
hold tightly
with the strength of
the biggest arms
and something
that can only be described
as agape love,
for a man
whose hands never grazed my skin
whose breath never heated my lips
whose eyes,
never met with mine...

I'm going to bed now...
my dreams await...


© 2010 Kween Kiwi

poem #7: fisticuffs

you attacked my heart

bluntly and coldly 

with a lie from the past

presented to me in the form of

needing to know

man...

you put some stank on it too

my senses were thoroughly

offended...

unable to breathe from the stench

and the unbearable clench

my heart was the shape of  YOUR fist

because you held it in your hand

and you just manhandled it

and discarded it 

as if it were just shit

had me...

...yes, you had me

but did you earn me?

i put the cart before the horse

the trust 

before the worthy

the do

before the i

and i...i...i cry

i want to scream as loud as 

my box will deliver

to ask how lillied is your liver

to sit in~dig~nance

when you're the perp and traitor

how do "i" end up holding the bag

however empty...

now i see nothing but

ex cues for you to ex-it

stage left

right into a former me and you

starring you and her

while my universe

implodes

i hope the ride in a warped time machine

is worth the sacrifice of the promise

of a classic future with me

i pray that you're released from here

AND fear

and given the dream you chase

so that maybe it was worth it

to lose, the love i gave you

and you don't need to remix

or reprise

another come on

to come home

to a heart that no longer fits

in your fist

© 2008 Kween Kiwi 

what had happened was...

ok...this is the thing,

i supposedly dedicated myself to the month of April because it's Nat'l Poetry Month. i was gung ho and ready to challenge my muse, but she got a case of the idgaf's. BAD.

i haven't been in the mood for people or places or words or serious thought. it's been like this for some time and because i've been in my feelings  about people and things and situations and such...everything poetic has been jumbled up like a clotted vein.

i could lie and say i'll try, but that's not going to happen...no original poems anyway. so here's what i'm going to do.

i'm going to post some poems that i wrote some time ago and a few of them are actually just now seeing the light of day.

a lot are filled with angst and emotion, because a lot were written while angry or sad.

i will not apologize for those who may come and find themselves in my words.

thanks for the patience and support.

i guess, i'll start posting in reverse...

poem #6: this room

this room

swallows me whole

in the middle of night's yawn

i tumble

inhaled by

the hunger of loneliness

my bed,

lapping me up greedily

pillows,

nuzzling against my temple

warm pseudo lovers

in this room,

i'm servile to its protective purposes

relaxed against

the walls

struggling to stand alone

i can do alone

i'd just rather not

this room,

my painter's brush...

is as much the cramp in my hand

as it is my palette's fancy

in this room,

amid ideas, refuge and vices

i'm in a surreal loop

of many a reason

that convince me

in this room,

is where i belong...
i shouldn't be resigned to this space
and it's not that i even avoid life's face...
it's the way this room holds me
and gives me life,
like my spirit reverberates
off these walls
in a constant rhythm
against my heart
and THAT
makes this room...where i belong.

poem #5: mental storms

my mind scatters like dust to the winds

blowing in tumbles

erratically following careless gales

looking for a place to settle down

a homeless wonder

picking up bits of debris

pieces of the love in me

wicked zephyrs 

whip through the thin layer

i'm barely wearing

this aimless walk through

darkened recesses

proves to be lonely

a savage safari of

tangled emotions and thoughts

attempting to choke me out

yet, i am armed

i carry a sword of words

testimonials of cause and effect

the story of "this"

a train of thought

serving as a path beaten 

one step ahead of mine

to keep me from 

getting tangled in grape vines

on this sojourn

so worn

from being torn

my mind is battered

beaten by the weathered trials

bashed against

tender senses

needing to heal

from sticks that stuck

and stones thrown

with perfect aim

for

intended pain

my mind roams 

to far away places

to deal with where i stand

all i want

is to rest

find a place of calming airs

flattened terrain

just right rays of shine

convenient shade 

a soft place to lie

and a piece of mind

peacefully mine

sheltered from the weathered storms

mental storms

© 2008 Kween Kiwi 

poem #4: no o'clock in the morn

the 3 o'clock hour
strikes
and hits real hard
i
just
cant
sleep
out of my mind
out of my body
experiencing
tears torn in my astral fabric
of repetitive dreams
cycling underwater
backstroking through clouds
ass backwards
feelings so real
that i awake
tears like flowing milk
without my honey
no o'clock
in the morning
eyes wide
seeing nothing
except
the lonely...
except
the void...
except
me...
here
to travel
through mental states
searching for a place
to live without you
i
cant...
i only pray
that every day
gets me closer
to closure
nearer
to understanding
further
from the frustrating
flustering
fucking
pain
i beg
for sleep
in the wake of you
i crave
to never yearn
never long
never need
never...
fucking...
care...
that you're gone
somewhere
not caring
about me
the 4 o'clock hour
hits
and i'm still here
waiting
for time
to fast forward
just so
i can sleep

© 2008Kween Kiwi 

poem #3: subconsciously

subconsciously,

i've begun to crave him

i must want his love

i didn't know i wanted his touch,

his smile,

to open me back up

to daydreams

and reanimate

the long sleeping love for love,

seemingly tucked away

with years

of relationships

and disappointments

then,

 out of a subconscious nowhere

astral dreams

of marriage

and declarations of loving me

until our souls no longer linger...

begin to prod my desires awake

i've begun to search him

in crowds

and aisles

and lots

to see if his eyes

will explain the why

...why is it that these thoughts

have arrived

and from where

did they derive?

i need to grasp

the yen for him

why is it

i want him to profess his love

to declare

with poetic flair...

that the ones before

were throw-aways

from bad catches

because...

wherever he found himself before,

 life was feckless

no depth

and no height

not quite dark,

yet not enough light

...and there in lies his quest

to disrupt my last two night's of rest

holding a torch

of the love i lost

a dream's guide

to find the love inside

an astral hand

to lead me to love

emerging tangible

and fulfilled in his eyes

and the enveloping hug

that has clearly been

the catalyst to my dreams

...good night.

poem #2: love loss

i can't quite remember

the residual heat

from extinguished embers

the smoky reminder

ashen chips

from a once raging fire

instead,

i'm still...cool...glass

reflecting light

transparent

smooth

...water rolling off me

a surface unchanged

unmoved
until bluntly cracked
or under pressure

i remember nothing

of passions engulfing

wild and reckless

just caution,

a flame-less candle
lit...no danger of growing
no danger of losing control
...my heart is absent
of the feeling
that stirs beneath the breast
and gives life to bated breaths
and boils up
like water
touching lava
causing seas unrest...
...i have not selected
not to recollect
i want nothing more
than for my heart to crackle
with erratic blaze
and give spring to my step
balm to my face
and love in my heart...
...it just seems that,
i'm to be abject to this memory loss...
love's memory loss

National Poetry Month: poem #1

so, I just finished a challenge on my Kaleidoscope blog. check out 30 Days of Days and be sure to catch other challenge-takers on the left side under "dem challenge takers".  seeing that it is National Poetry Month, I figured perhaps NOW would be the time to pursue some inspiration.

i've been lacking in this department...not writing poetry...for some time now. it's definitely overdue. so, here's my first poem...a freestyle.

who i am

if ever there was truth

to the assumption of who i am

i'd be lord over many minds

more hearts

and a few hands

i'd be a big deal

a glorious display

a kween without a throne

i'd be a catcher's mitt,

a wide receiver

for all the shade that's been thrown

if i were to manifest

the hateful words

used to describe my vibe

i'd be a everything,

but a child of God

if i bought into the lies

see, 

some have marked me victim

because i dare to respond with "ouch"

some have marked me sneaky

because i don't air my dirty laundry out...

i'm naive (which is funny, since i'm also deceptively evil)

i'm petty (which causes guffaws, since i'm supposed to be too good to people)

i'm everything

and nothing

i'm a liar

hated for the truth

i'm spoken of in whispers

my flaws supposedly proof

if i believed myself

to be deserving of what i'm served

i'd dig the ditch

lie down in the bitch

and cover myself with dirt

but, i know better

i be a kween...so fuck what'chu heard