I’m an introvert and in my perfect world there would be no need for communication. We would instead converse directly, telepathically, there would be no need for eye contact, or finding the right words, I wouldn’t need to muddle through my thoughts and translate my poetic musings into dialogue and fuck adjacency pairing (conversational turn taking), fuck, fuck adjacency pairing. And don’t touch me, please, I can see you need to hug a random stranger and that’s your business, I will not judge, but please, don’t make me that person. Don’t think at any point it is okay to get up in my space and let your skin come even close to mine, it’s not okay…i’m not broken, don’t look at me with those displeasing eyes, i’m sorry that you think me the rude one when I recoil from your touch or when suddenly I stop talking and fucking blush. Listen and I will speak but don’t expect to find me talking in the crowds, instead I like to watch hidden by my shroud. Lead into privacy where my voice alone can rise. Fuck, I am a walking contradiction. There are millions, billions perhaps of nerve endings sitting beneath the skin waiting to be triggered, waiting to shoot out mini fucking canons every single time they are stroked gently as though you were petting a cat, i’m not a fucking cat, do not pet me. Get out of my personal space, my muscles are tight from resisting the urge to go bat shit crazy…it’s like tickling my fucking nerve endings then walking away, now the fuckers are awake they need to feel, they need the deep penetration of touch, fuck, fuck, fuck. I sometimes think I truly despise people, I mean that in a nice way :). It’s times like this when I am very aware of my contradictions, I hate being touched, I hate being hugged and fuck me I hate when people think it’s okay to touch without permission. I love touch when it’s done right, I love deep touch that I can truly feel, not gentle tiny fucking annoying strokes. I hate having to talk with people, I like living inside my little bubble, I like being alone, I like solitude…I love talking with the right people, I love talking to those that know my silence means nothing more than an invitation for them to crawl on up inside my mind. I hate small talk I like real talk. I hate talking about how I feel I fucking love talking about how I feel! I hate talking about my thoughts and feelings and yet fucking hell they spill onto the page as though my life depended upon it. I’m a worthy walking contradiction, a beautifully quirky contradiction…just don’t touch me or hug me or fucking stroke me like a cat, don’t assume I’m an extrovert because of my self confidence, loving myself is easy :). I know i’m kinda hard, but the clues are clearly there just know that if I say it, it means I truly care.
Karen Hayward ©2016 (Image and words)
Strip away my outer layers,
lay me bare upon the bed
and make love to me.
give me make up sex,
break up sex,
morning sex and middle of the night sex.
Give me needy sex and lazy sex
and foreplay will do tonight sex.
Give me selfish sex,
Give me on the stairs, the table, the sofa
and the living room floor sex.
Give me slow sex.
Give me sex fueled by passion
Give me lights off sex,
lights on sex,
middle of the day sex.
When you have stripped me bare
and I am left with only my
then make love to me.
Karen Hayward 2016
My butterfly stands waiting at the window for her fluttering friend to arrive. Patience has kept her there for 90 minutes and the time has still not come, so still she waits as she teeters on the edge of forever. Shoes on, hair self brushed and bag packed with the teddy. The pink teddy that is almost nine, just like her. The sun is falling across her mousy blonde hair, streaks are appearing, she says, mum, take the colour of your hair so I can see the real colour, go look in a mirror I tell her. She giggles and shows me her matching freckle by the base her thumb, just like mine. How many minutes, she asks, a while I reply knowing no answer will appease her as time has currently stopped in her world. I sit back and watch her, her eyes are sparkling and I see the tiny fluttering of her wings…my phone beeps. ‘They’re on their way sweety’. I swear I just saw her soul soar into the sky and do somersaults.
Even in the battlegrounds of the devil’s soldiers,
beneath the iron shackles of your indiscretions
and purpose led assistance.
Even when hope is lost and the sun fails to rise
and darkness holds me hostage.
Especially on the days you think I’m broke,
with grey eyes that refuse to look up
as my voice is just a whisper on the breeze
and you’re not even sure if I spoke.
And even as I question my future abilities to love and be loved,
when I reflect on the damage,
and I question my sanity.
And even when you glance at me with eyes that cannot see.
Even when my shoulders can no longer take the weight
and my heart has nothing left to break.
when reality ties a noose around my neck
and binds me to the dirt…
no matter much the hurt.
I don’t know how to
not get back up again. I don’t know how to stay down, or how to spend the day with a frown. I don’t know how to not defend myself…or protect myself. I don’t know how to whisper when I need to shout. I don’t know how to not love myself or how to not see beauty in my soul, I don’t know how to be like you and let the world crush my spirit and leave me empty. I don’t know how to not get back up.
Karen Hayward ©2016
If time travel were possible I could cruise the depths of the universe at your side. We would search the endless skies for the answers to our questions and the knowledge to our wisdom. We could watch it all begin from row seats, my excitement spilling into time, a static echo heard as a whisper whilst we sleep back in our own beds in our own world. We could watch the earth as she takes her final breaths as she dies before our glistening eyes. You could hold me as at last I feel it safe to cry. We could watch the sun setting over and over and experience the multitude of magnificent hues. We could watch the aurora, like a child I could scream in delight at the spectacular lights. We could sit beneath a full moon and watch as she spills moon dust across a glorious lagoon. We could meet Shakespeare and Dickens and any one you like, we could travel in the darkness or travel in the light. We could watch as we are born, I could discover was mine night or was it morn. I could whisper to my younger self as the fox knocks down the bin, that even in the darkness it is morning and I’m sorry but this really isn’t a dream. We could travel all the shores and see the many ocean tides and for a single moment in time, we could touch. A single touch that stops the ticking clock, the gentle graze lingering on my skin until my dying breath. An imprint on my soul that travels with me where ever I might go.
Karen Hayward ©2016