these inconsistencies (don't cry)

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(Maybe it is true that I am an ugly girl.

An inconsistent, selfish woman.)

There is a mirror in the corner and it is watching.

There is a mirror in the corner

and it is a tape recorder.   Your step-father will know everything.

I look at my chin in the mirror and see it is too big.  Too big for you to love me.  Not big enough to keep you from fucking me but definitely too big to keep you from holding my hand on the street.  I am a simple and inconsistent woman and such an ugly girl to boot!  It’s true!  Don’t argue, it only makes you look stupid.  And every now and then stupid is worse than ugly.  Ask anybody.  My sister and I learned early that the best thing we could ever do is win the love of a man.  Our mother beat it in to us with her big curls and big lips.  Her big lips all done up in Yummy Plummy lipstick.  Don’t forget your push-up bra.  I was never beautiful when I was around her.  Who would have thought so?  Look at her.  Look at her lips and her hair and how tall and thin.  That isn’t me.  That was my mother.  I didn’t even come close.  And then she died.  It wrecked my eyes and my heart and all of my soft, aching insides.

I look at this man

his blond hair

and think    don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry

Such big, beautiful words falling

from his big, knowing hands.  Hands

that have turned so many

pages of the sacrosanct and

fell so gently upon

the nipples of so many

aching women.

How I ache!

How I ache!

Where are you?  Where are you now?

When there is nothing I’d love better than to waste away below the sweat of an angry hand. 

Let me shy away from your gaze.  I want to feel afraid of you. I want to be crass below your touch, say all the horrible words that embarrass me later in the day and cry your name out against your tangled sheets.  I want your fist in my hair.  I want your cock up my ass.  I want you to slap my face and smile against my hot cheek.  I see myself becoming a corpse and so I want to get fucked as hard and often as I can.  You seem like a man who might see the necessity of all this. 

It’s been so long since I’ve cried in front of anyone.

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as always, critique is welcome.  angelasimione at gmail dot com

i want to be good at this.

some nights, a girl can't help but think: FUCK IT ALL.

God...  sometimes i hate your creation.  do i even believe in You?  sometimes i hate everyone.  what good comes of humanity?  at its most basic, is there anything to experience joyfully?

i guess i'm just pissed off.

who knows me?  no one knows me.  they think they do but they don't.  maybe my brother.  maybe my sister.  everyone else thinks they have an accurate read on my number but the card they hold is upside-down.  tell me, show me:  where is your dead mama and all the  prayers whispered in her name?  where is your absent father and his absent strength?  where is the lover who rejected you, totally?  where is the love you've always needed, just out of reach, so close you could feel the eyelashes and still denied?  so please. judge me to my face.  call me "bitch" and act like i'm some spoiled little girl who doesn't know how to pay her bills on time.

does the context really matter?  does the impetus?  because when it comes right down to it the fact is that i feel alone, destroyed and singular in the worst way.  there are nights when i feel so happy to go to bed alone...  and there are nights when i feel so enormously alone and come face to face with the realization that, in spite of appearances, i've been going to bed alone for years.  no one is going to be my rescuer.  there is no knight in shining armor to wait for.  it's all bullshit, i promise you.  the fairy tales that have infected me are criminal and i hate you all for spilling them across my flesh.  stop taunting me with your soft phrases.  stop irritating the soft corners of my heart with your romantic hope.  i am not encouraged, i feel devoid.  the lack i feel is enormous and indescribable.  i want nothing from you but your warm hand.  if you would deny me this, deny me all and go on your merry way.  find a girl less enthusiastic, less passionate, less likely to get her hair in a twist.  i care too much to be silent.  i care far too much to look at the flesh of another and not want to combat death to the inth.  i will wage such wars as you've never seen and i will wage them, gently, across your skin with my lips and breath.  i will make you feel alive and taut and tender.  i will understand you in a way you've yet to be understood.

i can be loyal...

if only you would raise a hand to my face and be loyal to me.





i honestly can't believe what i've been subjected to.  i can't believe what i've tolerated.  i look in the mirror at my budding crow's feet and wonder , "what the hell have you done to yourself?  what took you so long, girl, to stand up for yourself?"

it isn't often that i cry in my white room.   when this shit hits, it hits hard.

ignore me.

i am impatient and silly and i have a big bleeding heart.