Nothing Left

I have emptied my veins slowly
Into the bucket you left beneath me
(Waste not your sustenance
While supplies last)
Drip drip drip
Ever weaker
Waiting to be fed
No transfusion came
I have bled myself dry.

Soul contortionist extroardinaire
Dumpster hobo
Pockets turned inside out,
Empty and useless
Sad and odd
No currency exists to fill them
That you haven't already pilfered.

I have given you all my words
All my screams of love and anger
I have given you all my songs
My soul in a melody
My laughter for your drive home
My moans, my sighs, my panting.
I have given you all the sounds of my being
While awaiting your reply.

I have thrown my body into your wake
For you to ride like a wave.
I have faced you unabashed
All my emotions lay bare
All the while you are a speck
Too far away to be seen and
Giving so little care.

The only thing I have not given you
Is coming to you soon
As I lay dying from all my wounds
The insults and the disregard.
My furious flame is dying down
My passion falling still
My once bright skin is growing dull
My lips are wearing thin.
Your feeding is now nearly complete.
You'll have the last of me soon.
You'll have the thing you haven't had.
You'll have my last rebellion.
Keep it as a parting gift.
You've earned it.
I leave you with
My silence.

All the women are done.

All the women are done
Done smiling through the hurt
Done gracing the disgraceful
Done adorning your eyes.
Done with the closets
The closets where we hide to shed bitter tears into shame filled pillow cases.
The closets where our self loathing hangs on display.
And, the closets where the numbers hide
On pieces of paper
On your phones
In your pockets
Else, lining up in your brains.
The same brains that forget milk and diapers and garbage bags.
The women are now accepting
Forgive-me-nots.
Keep your patronizing chocolates and numbing wine.

All the women are loud now.
"Shush!" no more.
The women are loud
By necessity.
The women are loud from all the fear.
The women are loud from all the years of
Shoving down their personhood.
Years of invasion
Invasion of personal space
Invasion of dignity
Invasion of self regulation
Invasion of uterus, of work and of thought.
Invasion even of the right to protest.

The women are done.
They are done, my man.
Start the apologies and the bribes because, buddy...
When you next look at them,
The women will be done.
You may be done too.

Six

Woke up feeling a six.
All those feels dropping like a stone,
Fantasy losing its sheen.
Sober reality shook me whispering,
"Walk this off. It isn't real."
This is how it goes with pleasant dreams
And fun island getaways.
But then you try to find a melted clock
In the desert while riding a tiger
Dressed as Marilyn Monroe
And you realize it's not even worth the effort.
Where's that man who couldn't make it to you?
Oh right. Now you remember.
You're a spoon without a spoon.
Get up.
Wash your face and get pretty again.
Time to do the walk of defiance.
Head on parade.
Heart in a box.
Lock it up.
Walk.