A painful kiss from chapped lips scathing my flesh
I didn’t know crust could turn into blades
I want to taste his lips, not my own blood
I groaned, not from being pleasured but from being literally stabbed with his crust
His skin was ashy and icky like sand paper
His beard un-kept and the hairs growing back on his face rubbed against my cheeks removed the top layer of my epidermis
His breath was death
And if he didn’t hurry up and cum
Surely I too was going to die.
Love doesn’t smell, feel or taste good all the damn time. Let’s be real about those moments when the butterflies in our stomach is replaced with nauseation and a strong urge to vomit. When inward screams yell with fury, “I wish this gargoyle would hurry up and get the fuck off of me.”
By Janell Hihi Copyright@2017
I wanted to experience you
not just live vicariously in verbalities, words or stories
not just know your favorite song
but dance with you to it while it plays faintly in the background
remixed with our heavy breathing
and childlike laughter
I want to taste the food that sets fire to your tongue
and walk with you past the house you grew up in
I want to smell your energy and hear the drumming of your vibration meeting mines.
I sense the elevation, the highness that is you.
You are not to be known
You are to be felt
I try to keep my eye closed as much as possible when I am with you
That way your aura is palpable and holding you is colorful, like touching a rainbow.
By Janell Hihi
Trying to knock out a few to do’s on the bucket list before he comes
Trying to see me
Experience me, by me, and no other
I call it a clearing away
listening to God more
Where there was none before
Making space for love
in all it’s splendor
In all it’s baggage, I will help unpack like a happy friend
Bring it all in babe
The bags, the rags, that chest of secrets you are scared to share
I’ve been making space for you
to move into that dusty place within me
Bring life there
And my aliveness will bring peaks of pleasure
unto your feet
You are a king
Let me show you love without abandon
by Janell Hihi
Copyright @ 2017
And I am not quite sure how anyone could have the grit to abandon him
The chocolate in his eyes lifted the resistance of my sweet tooth
I indulged again and again
And laughed with delight in my obesity.
Who are you trying to save?
You loved me when I was a monster, and I am not grateful for it. In fact, I despise how you love black, how you treat the dark like the day lit by a July sun. I wasn’t light – You were either blind or oblivious
Oh how I wish you would have just left me alone, to wither like a raisin and shrivel up so that every broken part of me would crumble off my soul like dust – but instead you allowed me to cover it up – like a pill suppresses symptoms only leaving the disease to persist.
Enabling is not a cure. You have cursed me with the energy of stagnation. Sold me a hope of escape. I long to be my own hero since I am my own villain. But you wanted to say you freed me so you could feed me to your unrelenting ego. How many of us linger in the belly of the beast? How many of us did you swallow whole?
You thought you liberated me, you destroyed what would have been a journey in healing What good is a cheap band-aid over a gaping wound?
You wanted to be the light in the tunnel but that’s not how my becoming was supposed to be. I needed to crawl in the dark for a while, with the night creatures.
I wanted to find my own way out. But then you emerged with your torch and an ego as vivid as my nightmares trying to deliver me.
Don’t love us
For your love is an interruption – a frustrating halt.
Your love is not the key that will open our hearts.
It won’t spark our evolution.
It only delays.
Don’t want to feel.
We want to rage what was left unraged
Light every fire within us ablaze
To burn is to bathe in the soothing effect of pain
It is my only deliverance.
By Janell Hihi
1. the strength and vitality required for sustained physical or mental activity.” changes in the levels of vitamins can affect energy and well-being.
2. power derived from the utilization of physical or chemical resources, especially to provide light and heat or to work machines.
My unbelonging is loud
Not loud like the rumblings from cars in the city, not loud like police sirens, not loud like my neighbors yelling from the rage of abuse and domestic violence.
But loud like nature… when the sun settles high in blue skies commanding attention, the brightness squinting your eyes, the heat generating sweat on your skin.
It’s impossible to hide even the feelings I harbor within, it travels outside of me with the whisper of the wind and you hear it.
Sometimes I’d wish my arrival wasn’t so announced – so blatant and so threatening to them.
Like nature stirring up a hurricane, they are helpless when they watch me, they either run for cover or become obsessed telling stories of my possible path of destruction and how many lives I could potentially take.
I provoke imagination in strangers, they’ve created vast stereotypes about my kind, and stories and myths that will live on forever – Must be some creative force that emits from my being that inspires child-like abandon within their minds that – like a hungry wolf wants to devour me – recreate me – define, restrict and silence my existence.
To make my presence not a presence anymore – only folklore – a myth – an unrhythmic urban legend.
And that is it…
By Janell Hihi
How could she be an equal participant instead of a slave
She wasn’t good at games
And with little desire to learn them
She was often left
Raw with the rub from those strangers
Who scathed her with their hot and shivered her with their cold
She wears her naivety like a maid secretly wears the queen’s dress
And her innocence is what provokes the rumbling within the stomach of wolves
Light and airy, unlike us… she refused to carry the wrinkles of pessimism
Every day she was born anew, oblivious, optimistic, heart open as wide as her welcoming arms
The light we wish we never lost.
By Janell Hihi
“You’re too dark to be mixed.” I roll my eyes trying not to look too bothered by the comment I hear repeatedly throughout the week.
I often do not even reply. What would be my rebuttal? Instead, I look down on the ground, tap my feet and wait anxiously for someone to change the subject.
They question you, but I don’t dare
You are what you are, a rapturing cape of silk linen over my dry bones and fiery red blood
A bullseye, the targeted, the color that builds nations of a flock too humble to accept it’s reward.
The mirror of the majority of outer space, the vastness of dark matter enclosed in a matrix that refers to it as a minority.
I’ve gulped the lies of generations before me, still stuck in my throat, rotting and bitter, dry & unseasoned.
Awaiting the acidic pool of destruction in my stomach.
By Janell Hihi