The world forces you into a mold.

Slice here, scrape there, forcing you in

and shaving off creativity with every push

until there is nothing left but a light top coat

for personality purposes. Even that is inspected

to make sure it is not too glossy.

 

I wander around stealthily, of course,

so no one will notice that I'm slowly

picking up the chunks and shavings

to piece myself back together.

 

I use each piece even before completion because

waiting would waste wandering

but once complete I will revise and refine

my work in an attempt to pull the world

back into the true light to find themselves

lost in their own creativeness.

 

For now, I will use what I have

and present it to the world as my ultimate gift.

 

cb 6-22-08

The vibrations, strong and fast,
hurt and then dull to a discomfort.
My eyes close even though I need to see
the forced penetration between every crevice.
Blood begins to pour and I dab to no avail.
It flows and drips, staining everything.
Not as easy as I planned it, but
I tilt my head back and ease it in further.
Back and forth, deeper and painfully deeper,
it finally reaches the very back and I explode.

The tingling sensation remains
to remind me to repeat and repeat.