Everyone I know is crying women, men this is what our anger becomes when our fire runs out and we realize what we’ve done
This is how we bare our souls with honest feeling in safety why should we alone endure our gief?
In the fray, the pages rend – this time not my hand to blame – yet the rip reveals remembrance that recollection cannot heal
Bearing loss, the heartache felt heavy as a pack carried uphill over many days heavier now, as if weight was added still
Sorrow, the melancholy blues I haven’t felt you in a while and here you are anew
We may wallow in anguish, woe — briefly — as we fall into the cracks as night chases the sun away we can wish for tomorrow’s gift: a day that destroys our dismay
How do I write this now? How now, my Lord, after all that’s become of us?
How do I tell you what’s become of me?
I’ve been sun-kissed and wave-licked I’ve been rolling in the dirt I’ve slapped a horse’s ass, cherry picked and I’ve spit creek water to the earth
I’ve seen snakes in grass and long thin worms, and sometimes chubby slugs the forest yields such photographs beetles, spiders, bugs
Moths and butterflies have pressed me with silken, pollened wings while no bee nor wasp has ever stung me as the dog-day cicada sings
A cricket symphony has often put me ‘lone to sleep under starry skies, dry eyes wake damp with dew out here I do not care to weep – a tear outside was never shed, except those I shed with you
If I never loved another, Desdemona be my name I have never touched another, yet an Othello I have made I have never laid another, but you laid me with the blame.
Oh, poor Othello! Confused with talk fed into ear by Iago’s mouth, untamed and tainted with mirthful, selfish motivation, to destroy love! Revenge!
Was my mistake the one she missed? The one where I fought back? For though I’m fair, when I get pissed boundaries up and eyes go black
Not so passive, lacking grace I begged and pleaded and tempted fate with tearful eyes and ruddy face now there’s nothing to investigate
I’ve not strayed, and still I wait as Desdemona would have done had Othello spared her life and run her story, I do speculate, and mine
Would be as one.
So though leaves have stroked my arms And brooks have soaked my pants, No other man has ever stirred me Woodsy tickles come from spiders, ants
Still, the forest gets me going, More stagged than sumac sprigs How then I touch myself knowing I’ve never caved to pleasure twigs
Right now, I cannot know your mind How now, my Lord, I’m feeling blind! So, in ignorance I must declare:
I will never sacrifice my virtue To die upon a kiss Know, still, I’m saved for you.
Love, Desdemona
If that the earth could teem with woman’s tears, each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
I thought I was the sun And I helped your garden grow But without the rain, without reprieve I scorched it to dust And nothing more could thrive Because I was relentless
The Halfwit Writer 