Blood on Your Fingers

A Writer's Thoughts

The word no
needs no translation
or legislation
just listen for
the resistance
and
know
tears and resistance
are never
signs of
submission

we never accepted
the position
you forced
us into
because
we know
you will one day
claim that we
really wanted it
as if though
we can’t
differentiate
between
love   rape   hate

Did you notice
how I
avoided you?
Why did no one
notice
the blood
on your
fingers? Or how
I worked hard
not to
be
alone
with you?

Forced fucking
is not
a solid
basis
for a relationship.

I never
thought you
loved me or
wanted me or
cared for me or
wanted to do
anything but
fuck me and
leave
and I
never thought
no
could ever
be translated into
me giving
my approval
for you to
use your power
to forcefully
fuck
me.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

*Note from the poet: I am…

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Poem Reminiscing about when Love was True

A Writer's Thoughts

If I’m completely honest
with myself
I would finally admit that I
miss dearly
that time when I could love openly
that time when love
glowed on my face like the sun
on a summer afternoon
when every day was summer
and winter was far away

A time when words flowed
from my pen like water and
poems bloomed like flowers in my garden
Love once presented me with a bouquet
of poems and I
sometimes still hold them
in my hands, careful to avoid
the thorns

Who would ever believe it was
once okay to long
for love and to feel it reciprocated

I remember longing for love
on a Sunday afternoon
Caress me with your eyes.

Finger my soul, open it

as if though it were the

opening of my sex accepting you.

Fully. Washing me over in waves,

a desire to know you like no other.
I…

View original post 278 more words

The Most Beautiful Lie

A Writer's Thoughts

The most beautiful lie
is the one that
never feels like a lie

Sometimes there are no words
to replace what’s been lost as a
beautiful lie exposed becomes truth

But the beauty of the lie
makes it impossible to regret;
every smile every sigh every exhale

Belongs in the world of the beautiful lie
without shame without denial where

Words once were poetry and smiles were
1980s love songs; how easy it was to get lost
how easy it was to not be found

Out. That’s the beauty of a lie that doesn’t
feel like it at the time. You can look back
on it without sorrow because

The most beautiful lie
is one that
never feels like a lie.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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The Break Up or What Never Really Was

A Writer's Thoughts

He said

Just because you can
doesn’t mean you should
leave

She said

Any place that destroys me
destroys my soul, I don’t belong

He said

Sometimes it’s best to stay
Sometimes you have to hold on
a little longer

She said

Hope doesn’t heal a soul
that’s been destroyed. That’s why
I never would’ve destroyed you.
Not even a little bit

He said

I never tried to hurt you and
I most certainly didn’t want to destroy
you

She said

It happened too easily

He said

I want to stay and fight

She said

I don’t want an angry love
I need a love that’s soft

He said

Love is about sacrifice

She said

My greatest act of rebellion was learning
to love myself. I will not lose myself
fighting for a love that’s too hard for me
to handle

He said

Love isn’t easy

She said

It was…

View original post 61 more words

The Chameleon

A Writer's Thoughts

I wear fear
like the color
of my skin. So much
a part of me.

The Chameleon.
Settling inside skin
too little for me
to move in. Trapped.

Trying to fool you
with boasts of
being unafraid.

Like fear was never
encapsulated
in the seed
of our love.

Fear wears many
disguises. The masks
hiding what can
clearly be seen.

Like when you’re holding
me, and I try
to etch the feeling of
us in love over the veins
of our existence.

Something to live
beyond us.

Which fear am I
hiding? The fear that’s
etched in my memory
or the fear that gathers

like clouds while
you’re lying
on top of me.
Diminishing.

And my role becomes
the watcher: me looking
beyond you to see
what the view
will look like

when you’re gone.
Foolishly
I believed you would
try to stop me.
(Not really, I didn’t.)

That you…

View original post 75 more words

Bitter Fruit

A Writer's Thoughts

standing on the razor blade
of indecision
she was afraid to move
forward. the past
taught her that love was
a bitter piece of fruit
that grew in a tree
up out of her reach.
one step forward to grab
what she could see,
not feel
could break her or just break
her heart
and the memory
of the pain of love, the
pain she felt before when she
dared to love
kept her balancing
on the razor edge
of indecision
where the only possibility
was that she would
cut her own self
bear the fruit of her
own misery

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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Fuck You

A Writer's Thoughts

I want to offer commentary, but then again I don’t. So I won’t. Today’s poem:

How could you not miss
the simple act of love’s kiss?

He didn’t stop to kiss you
Did you not feel cheated

when he shot from the car
like a bullet from a gun?

I guess being fucked must be fun
because he fucked you tonight
and ran from the scene of the crime
like a thief in the night.

Out of sight
Out of mind.

But his semen was swimming
in you even though he won’t dare
be seen in public with you.

You spread your legs open wide
gave the most precious part of you
to someone who doesn’t love you
probably doesn’t even like you.

A convenient relief and
temporary escape from the knife blade
edge of insanity, the place where he
built a life with a woman he doesn’t love
but…

View original post 87 more words