Intensity

I need the intensity

of going all the way

giggling like a teenager

I do not think I ever grew up

I may look mature

but I told you I feel seventeen forever.

I speak French too much

lose out on the English tone of your voice.

You have all the adjectives I admire in a man

and all the selves that blend so well with mine

we could be like a fine wine

but

do I have to be more precise?

I will not tell you exactly

what you do to me.

let us just say that what I say

is only a mere quarter

of the pull you have

on me, it may be magnetic

kinetic, aesthetic,

diabolic, angelic,

it may get deeper

or not.

Who cares to analyze anymore?

This is just a poem

about layers and layers

of clothes

being removed.

Clothes that turn into words

in a magic world of make believe.

 

Take out the checklist

do I match?

Probably not,

too quirky, too neurotic,

too poetic, too real.

Praise nothing about me

I am vile

disgusting

worthless

useless

I have my period

I hate men

Women treat me horribly

out to stake me

waiting for my breakdown.

You can see how this poem turns out

who seduced who in the end?

who really has the power?

Chrissy, what the fuck, I say to myself

get a grip of yourself

I realize my head is stuck in books

and I never saw a tiny ketchup bottle,

I may be sheltered

but you have no idea

how much protection

I need from the real world.

I just live

by my own heart

and I will die by it

only, this time,

I will have

no regrets

only wishes.

How I want

only you

to grant it

to me.

But sadly, no one can.

 

 

 

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