Spinning

For some reason, I have known that real writing begins with some emotion—some struggle, which creates some inherent emotion.

Spinning, spinning some sloppy time among the radiant delight of new faces

Developing an appreciation for myself in delicate places filling myself with compassionate embraces

Cigarettes make me feel like puking. That doesn’t rhyme with anything.

Refusing worry goblins from coming and attacking my heart

Itchy eyes contracted monarchy jibber jabber.

Completed excesses

desires rise

contemplation intrigue

A womyn’s battle with her body

Terror timidad

Grief disorder dismay

Super natural super redundant estimate

Of the human soul

Discourages the senses challenges the intellect.

Naked distraught disposition

Of amiable delight

Regretful acts to uncover the fright in insight.

Every once in a while some horrible delight

Transformed…

By Deborah Godinez ©