live your life for yourself
they say
but i've found no greater heaven
than the bliss and purity
of truly loving another
elevating the static, the "same" that suffocates,
the sunshine from the soul, in the "just another day"

offerings of praise and passion
goodness in a robotic world
the touch which remains, everpresent
and everlasting

and with the goodness
comes the misunderstanding
one shouldn't weep upon a mere
mysterious strangers' goodbye
and in the eyes of others
i've seen and felt, reflected shame
too often, when i let myself cry

and then there is the bludgeon
of the beasts and chameleons
who seek to drain those
of the giving heart, willing

i and we and you and me
have all been used
manipulated, teased
into the lull of false beliefs
seduced
then awakened, to empty, cold sheets

but again, we try
fear, the cycle, repeats
and sometimes, it does
but we still care, why?

what other choice, really, could there be, or is there
to become the "too many", of the "walk on by stare"
it's too easy not to
and too hard tot try
sometimes, most often
i sit with myself
and wonder of this confusing place
the "what is the purpose", if alone, is the "die"?

not all of us have things come to us, pleasing
like life long loves, or the stability of feelings
that come from a strong foundation, of self
surrounded by family, success, call it "wealth"

this war is ultimately us alone, with our gods
needing so desperately, signs of comforting nods

that our lives, did mean something
more than just a selfish reflection to ourselves
we were felt, seen and heard
not just momentary objects, bought and tossed on the shelf

of life
amongst the "everyone's"
to most we mean less than nothing at all
look around, those there for you, in soul
when you stumble, and apart, do you fall

my loyalty is deep
and to those i love and loved, i never leave
but the fact that i have been left, by many
is the alter of the ache in me
upon which this deep cut, follows and bleeds

just because you are true to yourself
you must never expect it from anyone else

loved today and then thrown aside, tomorrow
love, a commodity, which most trade, steal or borrow

but the handful of my "heaven blessed"
that have not strayed from my side
these are the treasured, chest
the pulsate of life, the divinity, in pride

attachments
are deemed as devalued and disposable
by those, again, "the lucky ones"
whose foundation stable, secure and immovable

parents and brothers, sisters, community
for the unlucky, like myself
they have contributed to the "ruin" in me

in the strain, that i let them
and the "cannot forget", sin

and in the reflection of loss
i see when faced with those, so fortunate
not know, the reality, of being left alone in the darkness
understand the shame, feeling helpless and lost

i've lived there
and i've known others who've too
and to those that have not
i say and pray, "lucky you"

for every clap,
there is a "boo" in the shadows
for every "cherish", to one
for another, it could perish, no matter

i am alone
and in love
with another mystery, unattainable
yet somehow, familiar
his utter beauty, tumultuous,
dominant, soulful, inescapable

attachments
are best
when attached to the purest, in heart
to love him is painful
 and strange, came the stranger
but it is palpably real, he
the two letters attached to the art,
heart impart, "we"

(this is all)
i have to give him
or you, the few i call my sacred,
as in others

attachments
bathed, hue and hold, of hope
love and fury,

stripped naked.

(yes, for him, here i wait then, silent, unspeakable, "knowing" swells, come, came him)....


21 june 2019
ringwald love

inappropriate, in the scope of it.


julie w: "transference is thinking inappropriate thoughts about your therapist."

me: "my whole life has been an inappropriate thought."


from the beginning.
i wasn't thinking anything
but the world and everyone around me, they told me i was

told from the beginning
i was a faggot
and a girl.

i never thought about boys when i was a little kid, not that way
except for living in fear of the next belittling, beating or bullshit to come

but that was just life.

yes, i did think about listening to music versus playing with  toy train set
or wishing i had the barbie dream house, because the damn thing looked cool
thinking thoughts of a "girly boy", then.

inappropriate,
apparently.

but perfectly natural to me.

and yes, i fell in love with the divine mr. harry reems, at 8 years old
and starting renting his films at 12.

but it was based in the purity of love and longing, hope in heart, of belonging.
he was the ultimate man daddy hero angel.

to define the path forward, poetic, inside.

inappropriate.
the people renting me the porno films or me for needing Harry to gaze at, dream of, feel safe, in this world.

and there lies the beginning.
of an "inappropriate" life.
always wrong
at everything i felt, was or did

sucked at sports.
let's force him to play more!

hated having to endure the strain of not being able to talk or move at the dinner table.
damn him, let make him eat off the floor! (yeah, that helped)
i was obsessed with being perfect.
that's where i first met my lifelong companion, "Mr. O"

collars closed.
buttons tight.
cords pressed and never dirty,
and if they were, out would come my little psycho self.
my sister would beg me to get dirty.
"come on, just come out and play for a little while", she would plead, trying to tear me away from my savior, tv.

i would change my clothes and try to let go.
for awhile i could, but if i looked down  to see how dirty i was,
i would get shaky and nervous and need to go get clean.

inappropriate thoughts,
boys shouldn't care if they get dirty,
that's what a boy is supposed to do,
screwed.

who made the rules, while us children of the 1970's
were pawns and pretzels for the witness of all kind of "inappropriate" things
masked, back then, as just a part of normal reality.

time to go to grandma's house..
bored out of our minds and terrified of our grandmother's preying eyes..

"let's play bar!"
that was fun.
and the bottles of jack and vodka
they were heavy, but the thrill was just trying not to drop them.
(i never got to play the bartender part, but i made for a good patron,
swinging around in the bar stool til i was dizzy, therefore "drunk")

those playboys of grandpa's we found in their bathroom.
it's not like he worked very hard to hide them.

giggle and blush.
but damn, they were boring
who wants to look at a naked girl, like that?
besides, she'd do herself justice, look so much prettier if she just kept her clothes on, right?

then teenage land hit
and boy did i ever explode, as in break apart and implode

just a little public ousting from the crowd i enslaved myself to belong,
"oh, the pretty popular ones"...
shamed and humiliated.
and then i was gone.

from their world.
left lost and forever altered, the state of being totally and completely alone.
how i would show them
those pretty, perfect, "fit in" kids.
already fucking and groping and "slutting"
as all i got to do was watch them from the sidelines, the outside, "the wrong side"

inappropriate.

and then there was christopher.

"hey, why don't you tell your boyfriend to get me a coke"
they would yell, standing right next to me, as i checked them out at the movie theater concession stand.
"he's not my boyfriend!", i would say, exasperated and pissed.

and he wasn't, but i loved him like all heaven and the stars.
the most beautiful guy i'd ever lain my lonely geek and faggot eyes upon.

but it was just love and worship and affection and adoration.
non-sexual, even if a bit "crushed out", was i, in the beginning.

...tales of ketchup being thrown all over me, while sitting with my friends at denny's, after midnight,
by a stranger who looked at me, literally, like he wanted to beat me and kill me.
and he did it, simply because i glanced in his direction from across the room.
(i have eyes, and they are prone to looking around the room, my surroundings)

"what the fuck are you looking at, faggot" or something to that disgusted affect.
and then, just walks up with the bottle of ketchup, opens and flings it all the fuck over me.
and done, then walks away, happy day.
(fucker ruined my outfit, that's all i cared about)

was that inappropriate?

of course not.
it was my fault for looking like a total freak, back then.

"boy's don't wear makeup and lipstick",  i was often told, with a disgusted scold.

boys who hate themselves and don't want any living soul to see what they really look like underneath do.

and then there was the bar world
who was i to think i could find true love in a world of drunks, drug addicts and cock whores?
(i turned into the third, no saint was i, ok)

that was the most inappropriate thought to last a lifetime.

to find the angel in hell.
and i spent my life crawling on my knees (hey, that's inappropriate!) literally and poetically, in honor of that vision of which
i enslaved my psyche and soul to....

i could go on and on..
(and you know it, don't you?)...

bottom line. (get it?)

i will never know "normal"
and it will never know me.

(and why tatum o'neal is the the heroic goddess she is to me, see?)

lesson learned whenever i remember never being held lovingly on my father's prideful knee..

"i told you that little faggot should've been aborted!", he would scream at my mother.
leave out "little faggot" and insert various insults and put downs, or sometimes simply, just "he", now and again,
and you've got the same old tired story he would shout at her when they fought about me and my endless
inefficiencies.

inappropriate?

what do i iknow.

all i knew was that there was some good tv on, time to run, when i heard that broken record on repeat time and again.

god bless channel 36!

bad ronald
dawn, portrait of a teenage runaway
alexander, the other side of dawn

they played all the best, great, good, good shit.

(and damn, talk about "inappropriate" for kids....)
how i always felt a kinship with poor, put upon dawn, and was a bit turned on by her pimp named swan.
now . that. was, inappropriate.

but i digress
to impress
the re-dress
of success...

in finding there is nothing wrong with me.
but everything.
so to speak, or not at all.

the mind thinks all kind of thoughts.
and wouldn't you love to know what they are?

oh wait, you pretty much already do...

i'm screwed.

(and we haven't even covered all the inappropriate shit i did to get a man to "love me" back then.)

but enthused to say,
and i'll say it again.

the most inappropriate thought
i ever do think.

is the one called love
and it's my defining obsession
like the divine, from above.

never enough.
good things to praise
upon those that have touched me
and moved me, my soul
as
most don't even stop to notice or think of such things
it seems..
the tiny flickers of joy and magic, hope, heart, it brings..
in the everyday nothingness of the wheel of society, what it means.

(to deeply love and care, to behold the magic of the truly beautiful few, or the rapture inside a mystery man's
oceanic stare, melts my heart and strips me bare...)

now that is inappropriate.

time to go think of him, and not share....

thanks.



2014 / 2019 ringwald love.

****WARNING, NOT POLITICALLY CORRECT IN ANY WAY...IF EASILY OFFENDED, PLEASE DO NOT READ*****



i'll be a fucking saint for you
'cuz this is all i know, to do
when the feeling of love, it swells, in "true"
i'll endure every bruise, til i'm black and blue

i'll put up, with all your lies
your daily search, addicted thighs
dependent on your cock, like air
yet alone, you end up, and i'll still be there

i don't know why, it doesn't make any sense
you've done some shit, that would make satan wince
you're in and out and all around
but when i saw you, heaven was found

in your "odd", and you're just plain "freak"
i'm feeling things, no words can speak
i'm sitting here waiting, for your light bulb to turn
on, so that my soul, stops, this burn

burning, as in, burning up, for you
let's do this shit, let's shine on through

let's just admit
there was "something more"
i surprised you, not just another, monosyllabic whore
more than just, the latest trick
your treats, they hit me, like a ton of bricks

i was blown away, by you, your being
and god forbid, you felt it, seeing

that my heart, shined in my eyes
listening to, your "speak", so wise
not just talk to win "my prize"
the one you shot in, owned, between my thighs

the one you already had, in the kitchen
blew you, without one "quit your bitchin"
didn't whine, or complain, not once
could've bent there, longer, as in weeks or months

'cuz i've been through enough shit, "me too"
and it's turned me, twisted,
so i'm perfect for you

i can take a good rape,
like you're "hung, me", "draped"
we two, we, go well together,
you won't hear me cry, "not again", not ever

i'm nobody's victim
and i'm sick of blaming the past
a good recipe for, your possessive control, built to last

i'll be your bitch
and your pussied, boy
with a brain, all the things,
here, to bring you joy

as in, not one time, then get up and leave
this is called , "please, forever", see,
you make me grieve...

because you decided
i was just too real
surprise, what's that?
i made you feel.

something more than the typical pair
of legs you flung, slung in the air.
of asses you arched, from the back, to objectify
and i took it all, heard me moan, never cry

and, guess what?
my "jig" is up
i'll tell you one more thing
and then shut the fuck up

when you sent me off in a lyft,
you were looking to see, if it would cause a rift
didn't flinch or bat, an eye
i played your game, with a barely a sigh

i've got another confession, then i'll shut this door
when you did that, heard, the message,
"be gone little bitch, like a turned out whore"
it only made me love you more

because i can handle, all your "issues", in mind
and i can take it all, and still be kind, from behind

because i know, you're a fucked up man
and i was born to take your hand
because, i'm a fucked up boy, in truth

let's blame it on my tortured youth

we can blame it on whatever you want
just drill me deep, and call me your cunt

you can call me every name in your book
just cast the line, make me your hook

the secret, i know. your someone, truly special
there's more in your ship, than an empty vessel

there's more to your madness, than meets the eye
you're my joe dimaggio, hear, "your marilyn" cry

out for you
let call this "through"
as in i'm the one, you've been searching for, true

as in loyal to, the bitter end
so, this song, to your heart, i send
come back soon, and leave me, never
"i know i like you better,
'cuz we did sleep together"

so says mother, deborah iyall
i studied her, sweet, so i could be your gal

her "romeo void",
it taught me, a lot
how to get fucked deep,
and still be cool and hot

how to stay strong, too
and never give up
as in "never say never",
i will be your pup

your "bruised eye. on beautiful", boy
as in my job, your blow, jocked joy

i will be your partner, in every crime
watch me lie on the stand,
and turn every dime

do everything , that you want me to do
when i saw your face
i knew i was 'done for" and through

so wake up soon
and lets' "get on"
i'll lick your floors, 
"teeth mow" your lawn

i don't really mind
as long as i'm with you

you're the vow that i'll take,
as in, love, yes...

i do.



11 june 2019
ringwald love

your rejection
my inner glow, erection
heart inspection
light detection

i can't love someone
unless you're just like me,
complex, complicated
and too blind too see...

that love can be found
and love can be had
it doesn't have to be over when things get bad
i love it that your sheets are plaid

doesn't have to be frightening
doesn't have to cause tightening
of one's teeth, to strike back, in attack
running, for the ruin, of the things we lack

like belief in the tender
the good intentions, the sender
the ability to hold,
without fear, it getting old

i love you
because you broke the mold
didn't surrender your soul, as we are told
that to do, to get through
and get by, hollow eyed
these are the reasons, deep inside, i have cried

about and for
and surprised, even more
because of, in spite of
welcome to awakening,
state of being, called love

as in, you
it is true
it is deep, not at thing called "cheap"

hurt, and heal, these layers i peel
not something i can shut off,
it's plain and simple, it's real

so yes, you can run, to the end of the earth
find every reason, to disbelieve, all my worth
find a dozen more challenges to conquer
taste their tongued and "timed up" offers

fuck and suck every body you can
but i'll still be waiting,
here, my heart, in your hand

i'm not psychotic
and i'm not a stalker
i'm not your nightmare
and i'm not betty crocker

i'm just a boy, who found you,
unexpected
and saw, there's a light, deep in you,
undetected

as in, who the fuck
has ever loved you, like me?
just give me a chance
and my god, you will see

that i will stick,
where others have left
as in, around
not leave you broken, bereft

i just know,
there's a "knowing", inside
that you are the one
whose truth i can feel, and abide

that you make me glow
where all the others, don't flow
and you "just get"
what all the others, can't know

me,
just by instinct,
as in "ual"
cause my knees to drop and drool

me, raw, exposed
my heart of fire, it grows
quenched, your ever confident hose

the only one
who can touch my rose
yet,
the only one blind
to what everyone knows

that this shit is real
all the things, "your magic", i feel
and this shit is happening
beyond the both of us
one day you will stand,
and i'll be there to kneel

before you and offer
everything i can give
and fuck us both
if we don't take the chance
and finally, live

"emerge to merge"
is what you said
and now, that shit's stuck in my head

this is not an obsession
or the manic side of a deep depression

it is called true love
i have finally found
it's you, god (don't) damn it
like the "go" in "around"

wake up, ill be waiting
patiently, plucked
to believe in another, i'm "shit out of luck"
an end to all the "dating and baiting"
just for you, lets' call it, "fate-ing"

as in, just something
that was meant to be
not just "you", not just "i"
but the "just right", that fits, our "we"

my love, it was born for you,
"spirit of sassa"
stay strong, stay true
don't question, as in "ask a"..

"nother", why this, "is", just true
both our favorite color is blue
and both of us
can't be loved, "in the regular"
to the goddess of love, i bow
and i beg of her

to send some angel
to send you a dream
that enlightens you to waken
don't be afraid, the you, in me

i'm not here to cause you harm
i just want die, your dreamboat, driven, arms

i just want to live, here
to please all your wants
i just want to give
without take, you, false fronts

i want nothing more
than to be your manwife and whore
learn to cook
and leave the past at the door

learn to belong,
deep in you, make it true
that merging together
forms a "one", from our "two"

now i'll shut up
and let you ball gag
your collared fag

as you learn to let go
of all the things you "red flagged"

as reasons not to believe, me, right for you
from the moment i heard you, i knew i was screwed

beyond your flaws, your shit as in "bull"
of love and wonder and hopes, just for you

you are the meaning,
"make a wish, it came true"



11 june 2019
ringwald love

"


when my shit turns, asylum.
(our tribe of fucked up souls)


when my shit turns asylum
most will run, no thought, no care
like the couldn't be bothered, find the truth, in the dare
as to, the reason why, then
i'm a slave, of the "touch your heart", blend

that's just the nature of the beast
like a smorgasbord, a gang banged feast
that "the many" will wait in line to devour
without connection to anyone
but themselves, stuffed, empowered

no concern for anything
but themselves, their needs
like a drought drenched garden
of flowerless seeds

planted, but devoid of the water
no awareness to grow,
an afterthought,
"the reaping of sow"

it's "on to the next"
buffet to corral
like the golden ones, good, gone
pigs, left to gnarl on the bowels

of insides, be damned
it's all "outsides", this sham
of a lie, the majority not a "brotherhood of man"
then, left the minority who feel,
we, the "get up and ran"

for the hills
for the skies
for the shadows,
to hide

any place safe, and away from the slaughter
of soul and heart, truth and art
taking place, name her, the apocalypse's daughter

hmmmm...
let's kneel and pray,
what to call her..
who's holding the leash, who's wearing the collar?

who's actually picking up the phone, hear your voice?
as in calling you, real effort, see?
it's not a matter of convenience,
it's the "connect, real", a choice.

but who wants that
when all the "getting's so good, guy"
as in everything, you think you want
without stopping to breathe, or ask yourself why?

when your shit turns, asylum

there is no one there to comfort your cries
there is no one there to heal the wound of the lies
there is no one there to kiss and bathe in, your eyes
there is no one there to hold the "exhaust" in your sighs

but just a precious and sacred few
like the "831" in i love you.
eight letters, three words, one meaning
it's not just a sentence, it's an actual feeling,

and it's not a given, it's called a gift
like heaven, throughout all the chaos and shifts

of moments and tasks
the reality, that little here
of substance, does last

not in a world of bodies, by the billion
you're blessed here to find, still alive inside,
that "one in a million"

add technology to it
and deaden, with ease
the "stop, soak in, and feel it, please."

anything and anyone
who actually sees and feels you, for you
the new "terrify and mystify"
the "kill it off", before the truth

comes crashing in
and knocking on your door
it's "let's rape the angel"
and sanctify, the soulless whore

the one that just wants the sheet, of your skin
without capability, or caress, "look within"

to the you that is hiding,
behind, all the "hard  cocked",
and riding
the limbs and holes
of other pre-lubed, pre-forgotten trolls

we are all here now prisoners
of pre-projected, pre-defined roles

the leader
the follower
the hollowed
and hollower

the boss
the "tossed"
the flossed
the lost

the saint
the "ain't"
the faint
the taint

as in "ed",
voted most likely
to be left, long, for dead

but amongst all of these
there is a tribe of empaths
who define "live to please"

as in care for others,
beyond the care of themselves

in a state of being, now mamed
called "selfless"

please let them show you a place called hell.

as in being this way,
ever naturally so
and having to navigate a world
more of "me", less "we", shown

as in bonds so deep
they define love,
real, complete

as in, "got your back"
like you've got mine
as in, live to help you endure, heal
and shine

i shall call this,
"our tribe of fucked up souls"
we, the "lived for love"
as in "to give", no roles

or pretense of gain,
no causation, bring pain

the "just want to take care",
here,of others, and share
in the experience of being
all too awake and aware

that this is not
the place we are told
shamed and scorned for growing old

it's a backwards land,
and don't you forget it

when my shit turns, asylum
at least i'm honest, admit it

the man i love, cannot love me back
yet i'm compelled to take care of him
endure the weight, his attack

of hit and run,
then leave, then come
around again,
but he can't see why
i will never give up,
i will remain steadfast and try

to show him, in steady
i am waiting and ready
to be the one that will not abandon,
like he's done to me
i just want to stay, he's in me
take his hand, heart, be free

and introduce him,
my tribe of fucked up souls
he will see himself, be himself
in our heart bleeding holes

made from rips and stabs
and push, shove and grabs

all too often, used up, and left
but it's us who's crazy
the damaged sensitive, bereft

that shine,
like divine
in the dark,
light,
"be mine"

and i, and we, and us
will be there, in truth

when my shit turns, asylum
it's because i am shaken,
to the core,

i love you.

(as in, you throb, deep inside me, let this truth, be the guide, to "we")




9 june, 2019
ringwald love

for my sacred tribe, whom i could not survive, this life.

christy, christopher, christina, tania, terah, julie....

catherine, jo-lynn, the beloved babs, brian, marie, julie....monica..the angel man know as lew lew bird.

for stephanie, you personify the lifelong wonder, the beauty, the mystery...

for the goddess kitten anissa, my everything.

and for "him",
yes, i'll wait in the forever, for "when"...

     "you're so good, you're no good"
                  
                 -chinese proverb


there once lived a boy named donnie
and he was blessed with something called a heart.
It was as big as the sky, in his favorite color of blue,
but it was also cursed,
etched in the darkness of a pitch black night,
blinding him, branded,
"born to be screwed".

Literally and psychically, from both holes and hallways,
destined to be touched, by an untouchable "always"..
As in, if he loved you, in deep, he loved you complete,
soaked you in, like stars,
and paid the price in scars.
Scars of the wound of "caring too much"..
he watched as you walked away, with another, as such...

He awakened to find, time and again,
his heart was his captor,
and his ultimate sin.

"one is not supposed, to give others, such power, as to destroy and alter, ones perception of hours"
minutes and days,
watch him, as his soul, it strays,

trying to understand
why there is no one, lasting,
to hold his hand,
in a place called "the paradise of rape and lonely",
he was haunted by a feeling and a vision, "his only"...

as in "the one", he watched, all of his lovers, did find...
but for him, all he found were more "splits" in his mind...

a mind that could not handle the pain, of being himself, all the love, bled in vain...
for his goddesses and gods, haunting, forever, his thoughts,
and "the dark ones", the liars, and the takers, he bought..
as in their stories, of care, for him, in falsehood, stripped bare..

stripped him, skinless, naked, to nothing,
these dark ones, so drawn to, that he never saw coming...
in the end, the destruction of him,
a slave to the wants, of love and belonging, again..

as in "time and time", until he died, lost his mind.
just could not live with, again, the dangle of hope, "not this time"..
As in "almost did", but never did, come true.
.his dream of being loved, by a man of same, bruise, hued, filmic black and baby blue....
Aaaah, but the secret is, he really did find him,
but lost him, again, blame his heart, shame his kindness..

if only he could've gotten grasp, of this game.
Hide your soul, give your hole,
and realize everyone is hiding behind a defined personage and role.
That allows them the cover, to claim and covet, find their "sacred other"...
not an endless sea of changing sheets, faces, "lovers"...
with promises made, destined to turn away, fade..
from his life, but not his being, donnie died, from the truth, for the final time, seeing..
that his love, it devours, as his loved, gains in power..

and once filled up and "had" of him,
comes the "turn away", without remembrance,
when all he wanted, in the end, was this...

to be remembered. and found.
He could not be forgotten.
Just like he never forgot all those lovers who got him.
Captured his mind and melted his heart.
All the pretty boys and pretty girls, who shined before him, wondrous works of art...
so donnie has died, like that "candle, in wind", extinguished, his fire, gushing glow, found its end..

In the man who said his kryptonite was "passionate, intelligent men"
with a body, framed and built, just like the one donnie lived in..
but the man disappeared and the meaning, message, quite clear...
donnie, "such a sweet boy", damned by this exact, so endeared...
as to cause his dream, man of reality, to abandon,
all the words spoken, all the wants of him, happened...

So just let him go, as he's been let go, once too often...
let him return to a heaven, where his torment is softened.
and soothed by the "save, and salve", other side...
in the arms of a man, "angel-ed", in him,
found his home, with nothing left to hurt, or hide.




8 june 2019
ringwald love