Why do you Stay?
by M. C. Brown
Thursday, June 10, 2004
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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Why do you stay when you know you don't love me?
all night the walls cry, closing in, squeezing; enlarged hands
engulf, fastening to my voice box, forcing me to cough you up
and out; out of me, out of my soul, out of my knowing.
Why do you stay when you know you don't want me?
robust feet echoing, trampling; tamed boot heels aimlessly digging into my heart, grinding up the hope that I hoped for the two of us; I guess it must have been me alone doing all the hoping.
Surely you must know by now that I am a woman who needs far more than melodic and lyrical hands coasting about my naked chocolate skin, wetting the insides of my thighs, causing me to burst forth erotic rain.
Why do you stay when you know you don't need me?
Wet my mind instead; wet it with the sweet seeds that open to meaningful intentions, fascinating dialog; wet it with the fertilizer, giving root, connecting us, intertwining; wet my heart with a bugle triumphantly blowing the crystals of understanding; blow hard on it, jumpstarting what should have been by now set afire, blazing; don't you know by now I am far more than physical emotionality?
Why do you stay when you know you don't see me?
Look at me, look into me, my round brown calling eyes . . . deep surrender soul of me; touch that; fill that cup; fill it up; sweats of appreciation crown the tips of me; respect shouts "yes!" sensitivity drives me like fast purring Jaguars and Cadillacs; do that for me; pierce that tough skin with arrows hidden in the back pockets of those straight-leg Levi jeans; take the starch from that white collar Stetson shirt and knead it; make it supple; pliable, bending to commitment, oneness, mating from the inside, filling the hollow places, the dried up brooks.
Why do you stay when you know you don't . . .
don't hang around
don't make a sound
don't want to be found
don't break down
don't even frown
don't laugh or clown
don't touch my heart but my gown
don't press or hound
Why do you stay?
What are you hanging around for?
I . . . can't . . . make . . . you . . . whole.
copyright June 10, 2004
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|Reviewed by Debashish Haar (Reader)
|Reviewed by Paul Berube
This is an outstanding write. Love is much more than sexuality and you say it beautifully here. That last line is a reality check.
|Reviewed by A PAX
|Reviewed by Retta (Reindeer) Mckenzie
|This was outstanding, such a powerfully sad poem,
|Reviewed by ya mama (Reader)
|Reviewed by Phyllis Jean Green
|This is nothing short of magnificent. Seldom
am I at a loss for words, but I had to go outside to gather my thoughts. Often we debate about what poetry is. It is
t h i s! Pictorial and emotional and loose and
controlled, all at the same time. What a mind you
have, Marion. S o u l. Phyllis
|Reviewed by Anthony Hall
|Dear Poet, that is DEEP! You gotten to the heart of the matter. Men are cowards and cowardly. They want to go, but they just can't fully let go...
let go of your comfort,
of your care
of your wanting
can't let go of your love
It is what we know and very hard to let go. Ultimately we want you to make the decision so we don't feel as guilty. But or both your sakes, you need to make the decision.
Keep, keeping it real,
|Reviewed by Lori Moore
|Powerful questions and an awesome ending make this a great write.|