…it just makes me want to harden my skin, a childhood fantasy to make a shell of leather, as a child it would have come from endlessly climbing trees- until inner thighs were as callused as palms and summer feet; now it is from fighting in unsanctioned underground cage fights for money; fighting vicious men who will not yield for pity or sympathy or real risk of life or limb.
Still when the bout is over no one would give a better hug and thanks for the thing that is done- from that same man!- no hard feelings are harbored, nothing like the sadness and bitterness that makes me fight in the first place.
And I frown so deeply at the couples holding hands- their baby soft skin and empty minds! (I only ever wanted one woman, that would be my leather shell from the prison that is my otherwise heart in throat- the never ending turning gut and sinking pit). I frown deeper still at those who have someone but would be greedy enough to want or have another as well! (to have the shell and keep the prison too!)
I have love, I do have love! So much,
but I wont give it to a single soul- save a friend, the dogs and cats, wild animals too; give to trees and wind and my art.
but not to one other (that means I won’t give it to a singular person). Hell no! You get no such thing, no more, no one will, not that way. It is exhausted- boring and bled out. I have more love for the vicious man with all my blood upon his knuckles, and the floor, than for a house and yard and job and the pain of the heart that does not even sit well like a story.
I can be…
I can be a…
one who doesn’t want anything anymore, just so I can live amongst you assholes.