IV: Wild

I think it's half funny half interesting how we turn into savage drooling animals when it comes to passion.
I guess i fit in that group of "unfitting girls" for questioning that.
I guess i should just cut the bullshit and let it go.
Loose the clothes and get in here, bitch, right?
But wait, first wait.
No one wants to get hurt
If you don't wait my body will fail and it won't burst open for you.
If you make me breathe your stinking sheets
and choke on the smell of spit all over the pillow
My mouth will dry
and it won't taste yours
I don't know
Maybe i didn't want to.
Maybe i just didn't fucking want to.

"It's okay if you want to change the subject"
"We're in the middle of this, Cameron. We're getting to the point."
"Oh no, the point was discovered long ago..."
"Okay, then let's get to another edge":

my brother and i used to sleep on the same bed.
Some nights i punched him in the face
how can one single person make so many noises in his sleep?
first the tongue stuck to the palate
then the drool swallowing and then the snores
maybe a sneeze
maybe an arm itching
maybe a tiny moan
maybe puberty...

first night he thought i was asleep
later he knew i wasn't but he carried on
and frigged
and choked his thing 'cause it was there to be strangled in the dark
and i was there to witness what would soon become a routine
even with the fucking lights on.
We laughed though.
Mom? well she knows shit
and nobody taught us how.

He probably got it from dad but one day he was long gone then and forever, Cameron knows that.

And mother was God
'cause she caressed where it hurt with her songs and my dramma.
I celebrated the buiscuits of cloudy green gardens while her hands brushed my hair
and made ponytails from it
                                        then home was sweet
                                                                        when it rained.

I was focused on growing up as safely (in quotations) as i could
confusing myself with a hip of the same old poison:
"loose the clothes and get in here, bitch"
(loose the clothes while i scratch and smack and rush inside you
'till my fuck has flowed.
Because you're so skinny and fragile and easy under me.
Because i hold your hands tight and perhaps i don't let you talk
or scream
or i just want to feel the steam of your denial turning to sweat on my palm
as i quickly bungee jump in your tiny core)

some words slipped afterwards
"you were really good"
even though i didn't do or feel anything.
Good girl
beating beside him.
And then the smokey glue
coming in the shape of a whisper or a sigh
ice cold but warm:
"I love you"
So lopsided smile from me
'cause those three words change the world
turn it blurry
drunk
high
fucked up pretty nicely.

By dawn it wasn't enough 'cause they faded away like most lies.
And i needed more
more confusion
more disguised pain.
At least 4 "i love you"s a week
and i digged for it.

Oh mother, are you there?
won't you kiss my cheek goodnight?
lull my soul to sleep?
i'm so empty.

But the day i met the light was close.
The day i met and understood goodness was soon to happen.
And one night i danced
and i had beer
and "hey, you got a light? thank you! wanna dance? i'm Ginger"

"I'm June."
Nice to meet you

And magic.

Twas the night i dared to promise myself
that from now on
no man
would touch me
ever
again.