Payne’s Words: Poetry & Prose

This page is a work in progress. For all my poetry, prose and short spoken word writings in one place, please see my Pinterest page for some of the pinnable poems, here: MY WRITINGS

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Waiting

I’m waiting for the man
who can handle me.
The male who isn’t
Intimidated, and for whom I
needn’t dim myself.
I’m waiting for the man
who is more than me.
I’m waiting for the man who
sees in me, what I cannot.
I’m waiting for the man
who will make me more.
I’m waiting for a man who desires,
value’s and realizes my worth.
I’m waiting for the man who
would drive all night to spend
the next day with me.
I’m waiting for the man
who directs me, leaves no questions,
and is not vague.
I’m waiting for the man
who knows exactly what he wants.
I’m waiting for that man to
teach me how to please him.
I’m waiting for the man who
sees my soul before my beauty,
and then appreciates my beauty.
I’m waiting for the man who
desires my thoughts, fears,
hopes and dreams.
The man who wants to
know my darkness as much as
dance with me in my light.
I’m waiting for a man to
devour my body.
I’m waiting for a man who
understands my silence.
I’m waiting for a man with
Opinions, intellect and charisma.
I’m waiting for a warrior
who is willing to defend me,
even when I’m wrong,
but also tell me I’m wrong.
I’m waiting for a man to
touch me with feral tenderness.
I’m waiting for a man who is
waiting for a woman like me.

I do so fully

If I am yours
If I belong to you
If I’ve devoted
I do so fully

Your desire is my fuel

Tell me your need
What do you crave?
Give me direction
Teach me how to please

Do you want me?

I will submit
Surrender
Give all that I am
I aim to satisfy

What do you crave?

Tell me your need
I’ve been preparing
If I devote
I do so fully

Have you caged your animal?

Take what is yours
Dominate as you please
Submission is my pleasure
Set him free

I will feed the beast

Pillage and plunder
Make me feel
You are the catalyst
When I devote

I do so fully

BUTTERFLY WINGS

The tall cliffs protect as the ocean beats and flings itself  haphazardly against the rocks below.
The pillows of fluffy white deceive and the tendrils of rainbows forecast the promise of a sunny day.
The veil of sea mist paints the air with tiny frolicking faeries.
I stand tall, and still and soak in the majesty.
The mist bathes my cheeks and bleeds into my hair.
The roar of the sea quiets my soul.
Sometimes the silence inside awakens when I am most still.
The air is icy and bites.
It feels good to be touched.
My skin rejoices as my heart is filled.
Don’t move, don’t allow distractions.
Soak. Absorb. Marinate. Remain still.
This is anarchy at its finest.
Disobedient water obeys no master.
Headlands jut as time erodes.
One cannot contain forever.
Crevices give way as water cleanses.
My heart beats and my lungs billow behind my ribs.
I remain quiet.
My pulse quickens as waves roll and surge.
The ground beneath my feet vibrates as water insists,
attempting to claim me, reaching ever skyward.
I close my eyes and listen.
Amidst the chaos, there is intense peace,
a belonging to something deeper and bigger.
The lighthouse winks as I once again allow sight to overtake.
The rainbow tendrils dance like ribbons of butterfly wings.

THE WAVE

You stand and crouch, finding impossible balance amidst total chaos
You ride it, and sink into the sweet spot, then you fly.
The world goes silent, so does your heart and all your internal functions.
Time stands still.
You are inside the water, the wave, the entire ocean has accepted you.
It holds you safely inside its boundaries.
You don’t breathe
Don’t ruin the moment with movement or sound.
The water is around you, over you, under you, in front of you,
crashing behind you, speeding under you, chasing, hunting you down.
Still you do not breathe.
You reach out and touch the wall, it bites your skin.
How can you go so fast and survive?
Your escape route is growing smaller,
moving away and rushing towards you in the same moment.
Still you refuse to fill your lungs.
The thought of those rocks haunts you.
It’s peaceful anarchy.
Tranquil and frenzied.
Serene and furious.
You feel your mortality, and your immortality.
You see your potential.
You are powerful, you’re a demi-god,
you have conquered the mighty ocean.
It’s submitted to your will.
You see victory at hand.
Then the beast spits you out, discarding,
shooting you up into weightless space.
Sounds crash into your brain,
painfully bombarding you with admonitions.
How dare you attempt to tame the monster?
Gravity grabs and slams you back to the liquid surface.
The impact feels like cement.
You are plunged against it and then down,
down, deeper where the sounds muffle and echo.
You are pummeled against rocks, tumbled, tossed.
Now you cannot breathe.
If you do, you know you will die.

HEART IN RUINS

I have no purpose in this matrix.
I have no reason or ambition to create a purpose.
I’m on the outskirts, orbiting and watching.
I’m anchorless.
I spent my life preparing for a soul mate who never appeared.
Now it’s too late, there is nothing here worth rescuing.
Even less worth loving.
I’m cynical, jaded, apathetic and self-destructive.

I crave to be bound and flogged so all I feel is my flesh and the sobbing of my soul is silenced.

I’ve spent an entire lifetime searching for love only to come up with a tear drop of diluted, half-meant intentions.

Nobody is enough.
I am not enough.
This life is not nearly enough.
I was meant for so much more and here I am, wasted.
Wasting away.
My soul feels starved, gaunt, atrophied.

I’ve wandered the desert of loathing for far too long.
My heart is in ruins.

NOT MY WORLD

This is not my world.
Hollow soil, impossible to thrive, shallow roots, starvation.
This is not my universe.
The star burns; energy thief.
These are not my people.
Hatred, mantras foreign, love superficial, façade transparent, devoured innocence.
This is not my community.
Blind eyes, deaf ears, apathetic indifference.
These are not my souls.
I am but prey to the predators.
This is not my matrix.
Malignance and opposition, survive and subsist, struggle and strive.
This is not my faith.
Condemn and judge, criticize and censor, plight maligned.
These are not my gods.
This is not my planet, not my people.
Not where I belong.

RIPE

I’m not smooth. I’m not young.
I’m not polished and new.
I still sparkle –on occasion.
I have scars, bumps, lumps, creases and divots.
I often appear as if I slept on my soul while it was still wet.
I’m not intellectual or academic, but I’m smart as a whip.
I love too hard, and then not at all.
I’m indifferent, but passionate.
I crave everything and nothing.
I’m ancient and childlike.
I’m experienced, wise and ready.

PRECIPICE

Submerged, drowning.
Dangling over a precipice.
Left, forgotten. Fingertips grasping.
Treading, weary, waning.
Waiting, always waiting.
Satellite, orbiting, floating, unseen.
Want, need denied.
Don’t call your need, love.

IMPASSE

How do we bridge this expanse?
The impasse grows as we stagnate.
Together we are stronger.
Alone we are less.
We are at an impasse.

I can no longer see you, though I squint.
I can no longer feel you in my heart.
My soul is lonely.
My vessel vacated.
We are at an impasse.

You are fine.
I am flailing.
The gap widens.
The distance now impossible.
You are gone.
We are at an impasse.

NOW I CRAWL

Now I Crawl
When I lost you, a part of me died.
Now I crawl.
It felt like an amputation.
I’ve yet to regain even half the person I was before.
I can’t master the simplest of tasks.
I’m still taking inventory, but I lost much.
The prosthetics hurt and I can’t walk.
Now I crawl.
I soared when I was with you.
I can’t write.
I’m unable to understand the simplest of instructions.
I feel almost a mute.
I’m trapped inside my head.
The rest of me is numb.
Now I crawl.
My heart rarely thumps.
I ache to feel your powerful emotions.
I’m cold, dead, and disoriented.
I’m disconnected from life.
When I lost you, a part of me died.
Now I crawl.

INHABIT ME

Inhabit Me
I evict you time and again.
You tenaciously return.
Powerful Intruder,
Plundering my every thought.
You’re an invading force—
Occupying.
You steal my vision.
My heart prompts with loud thumps.
You settle there,
Holding my soul,
With a roguish sending.
As if you’re fully aware—
You inhabit me.

SKIN HUNGER

Skin Hunger
Reality?
Virtual world.
Small rectangles of existence.
Tiny comfort zones.
Transient moments.
Just words.
The physical forgotten.
A distant, ancient memory,
A theoretical world.
Am I invisible or simply ignored?
My largest organ,
screaming for notice.
My lips ache.
My core is numb.
My skin is hungry.
To trace a finger pad over a scare, and hear the story.
A forehead kiss.
Sighs and moans in the dark.
To be filled and occupied.
Bask in masculine energy.
To be seen.
Understood.
Touched.
My skin is starved.
My soul dehydrated.
My heart aching.
~Payne Hawthorne

EXTRICATE

I’m trying to find freedom,
extricate myself from what was once,
us.
I need to be free of you,
of the weight of you,
of the possibility of you.
I thought I could,
but now, more than ever,
I feel bound to you,
by you; the possibility of you.
The thought of freedom now chokes me
with the ghost of your hand.
I’m in a dark place, chained and restrained; you left me here alone.
I cannot escape.
The harder I try, the tighter the binds.
I can’t breathe,
drowning, disappearing, fading, vanishing, withering.
You’re heavy on me, in me, with me.
I’m trying to extricate from the memory of you.

NOTHING SHOWS

There’s a stutter of vacancy behind your ribcage.
You press on it, hoping to staunch the flow.
Nothing helps.
Nothing shows on the outside.
Nobody knows you’re bleeding out.
You continue to smile and laugh.
Even you believe the lie,
Sometimes.
Your soul has been torn asunder.
Your insides a demolished war zone.
Canyons and craters.
Bruised and broken.
Shattered and gutted.
Nothing shows and nobody knows.
Not numb, more like, adjacent too.
How long have you been a partial?
Waiting for your missing parts.
Pieces went astray.
Embers now cold.
How long?
You forget.
You soldier on. Marching ever forward.
You’re simply killing time.
In denial.
Misdirection preserves purity.
Misinterpretation is your puppet.
You find comfort in the suffering.
Part of it is yours and yours alone.
This fucking stutter continues.
It’s the place where you were once whole, and now, now, now—vacant.
Bleeding out.
Crying in desperation.
Nobody knows. Nothing shows.

~Payne Hawthorne

CHANGED

He touched me with his emotions. His desire was my fuel. We walked hand in hand across billowy clouds of our imaginations. His attention hydrated and his love healed. He was medicine for a broken soul. He was an acute happening. A whiplash of recognition. An awakening. He left me as something different, better, aware. He left me stronger, surer and more evolved. His departure although not a surprise, also changed me. Into what? I still have no idea.

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INTEREST

Catch my interest. Ask me questions. Show me you have depth and introspection. Address my soul. Then later, then you can inquire about my body and my fantasies, my ideals, and my favorite sexual positions. Earn my attention. Don’t ask me to beg when you’ve done nothing more than say hi a few times. Show me some of your soul before you offer me a cock picture. Treat me with enough respect to show you are a serious male, an intelligent man, a gentleman. Don’t ask me to help you jerk off as if I were a newcomer. Don’t bore me with the mundane. Just don’t, unless you are serious.

Don’t read from a cyber script, as if I were one of multitude. Treat me as if I am an entity worthy of your adoration. Don’t play games or manipulate my emotions. Don’t insult to attract. Don’t treat me as if I am stupid. Give me some due.

I am not dumb, nor a neophyte. This is not my first rodeo. I will see through your bullshit and drop you without a second thought. I am an adult. I am wise to the ways of men. I am not searching for something transient, nor do I have time to waste on a juvenile hoping to learn something from an older, wiser female.

Give me all this, and I will crawl, beg and kneel before you. I will worship you shamelessly. I will devote and make time for you. I will focus on only you. I will offer you my body to use as you wish. I will only be satisfied once you are; in whatever you need.

I will not offer all of this for free. I will not give all that I am unconditionally. There are conditions, meet them and I’ll notice. Trust me, I’m paying attention. I notice everything.

NOBODY KNOWS

There’s a stutter of vacancy behind your ribcage. You press on it, hoping to staunch the flow.
Nothing helps. Nothing shows on the outside.
Nobody knows you’re bleeding out.
You continue to smile and laugh. Even you believe the lie.
Sometimes.
Your soul has been torn asunder.
Your insides a demolished war zone.
Canyons and craters.
Bruised and broken. Shattered and gutted.
Nothing shows and nobody knows.
Authentic emotions? Now you’re not even numb. More like, adjacent too.
How long have you been a partial?
Waiting for your missing parts.
Pieces went astray. Embers now cold. How long?
You forget.
You soldier on. Marching ever forward. You’re simply killing time.
In denial.
Misdirection preserves purity. Misinterpretation is your puppet.
You find comfort in the suffering. Part of it is yours and yours alone.
This fucking stutter continues.
It’s the place where you were once whole, and now, now, now—vacant.
Bleeding out.
Crying in desperation.
Nobody knows. Nothing shows.

~Payne Hawthorne

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All roads lead to Payne