Friday, December 16, 2011

Motorcycle Ride

The wheels roll underneath me,
Engine rumbles, landscape flies,
The road opens out before us,
Clouds dot gray winter skies.

Wind roars through my helmet,
Deafening all sound outside my head.
I hear my soul singing through,
Past tears I once had shed.

Feel the hurt of old wounds,
Then the rush of your body, hard,
Pressed up against my open soul,
Soothing all which had been scarred.

In chaos I hear nothing,
But the whispers of last night,
Your heavy breath of lustful passion,
Sends my heart in blissful flight.

I squeeze you ever tighter,
You pull the throttle closer still,
My life abandoned to you,
My essence at your will.

The rush of air envelopes me,
And washes out my sighs,
From memories of love we made,
Still wet between my thighs.

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Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Another Nightmare

I dreamed of my mother last night. She had me in her grasp, and the look on her face was so sinister. Filled with terror, I was limp, unable to move or fight, as she held 5 long hat pins against my left cheek, ready to plunge them into me.

"I love the way this feels," she spewed, with a chilling smile.

I knew what she meant. The authority, the control, the ability to cause harm satisfied her need to be powerful.

Somehow, my arms came back to life again. I knocked all of the pins from her hands but one. I took the remaining pin from her, and shoved it into her face, to protect myself. I wanted to get her off of me, to run, to get away. As I pulled it from her, her smile widened.

"You're just like me. You enjoyed that. You're filled with my venom."

To be like her is my greatest fear. I want something so different for my life, yet cannot find a way to be rid of the fear, the hate, and the anger. When crossed, I become hateful and obsessively plot revenge. It eats away at me. When I don't follow through with the acts my conscience is eased over time, but holding my anger back is painful. If I follow through, I hate myself instead.

I want to be free.

As I stood before her, with her blood on my hands, I became sick inside. Waking, I sat up in bed, feeling the vomit rising in my throat, and began to cry.

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Friday, November 18, 2011

Runaway Train


My strength is a misguided freight train, barreling along the wrong tracks. This undeniable strength, admired by so many, has the potential to steer me off course, and when fueled by anger, the train runs away.

In the tunnel I can't see the tracks. I can't see anything. I hear the steel wheels screech along the rails, grinding, twisting, burning metal, straining to remain on the path. My destination is blocked from view in the dark, black, brick tunnel. Yet, I shovel angry coals into the bowels of the beast with the steam pouring from my chimney. Sparks fly, from the wheels, from the shovel, from you and me, as the friction eats away at us.

I want to find the brake. I want to find the release. I want to stop the train.

The angry coals pour out of the coffers of the coal car. I look deep inside the car to see the seemingly endless source of the coal, as it pours out of the top and spills along the tracks behind my runaway train. Below the coal car is a pipeline from the long row of freight cars behind. Fourty-six cars, one for each year of my life, all filled with fear. Each car pumps the fear into the coal car, and magically, the fear becomes anger. Black, angry coals to fuel my passion, and fuel my destruction.

I want to find the brake. I want to find the release. I want to stop the train.

My place is in the engine, furiously shoveling angry coals into the inferno that powers my runaway train. All of that strength with which I'm so endowed steers me along on a course of sure destruction.

I want to find the brake. I want to find the release. I want to stop the train.

No lever. No brake. No release. No choice. I leap for relief.

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Tuesday, November 1, 2011

I Hope You Know


I hope you know I love you,
And I want you to stay,
That I am only human,
And I had lost my way.
You truly are my happiness,
You are the reason I pray!

I wish that I were stonger,
Sometimes I am so weak.
But peace with myself,
Is truly all that I seek.
I know that life without you,
Today would be bleak.

I hope you know that I love you. . .
I hope you know. . .
I hope you know.

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Thursday, October 6, 2011

Song of Hope


I couldn't help but love you
So sure you were meant for me
But loving you hurt another
Loving you wasn't free

I struggle with my conscience
I struggle with belief
A spring of pain in my heart
For another, a flood of grief

I can't help but love you
Be grateful for today
Listen to the song we make
Hoping it will guide the way

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Saturday, September 17, 2011

The Red Shoes


I wanted the red shoes
Like all the girls had
Just a plain pump
It was just the fad

But you knew better . . .

For Christmas that year
Under the tree
Were the red shoes that you
Wanted to give me

An open toed pump
With a big, red bow
When I saw them I didn’t
Know how to show

I was so wounded . . .

I wanted to fit in
Be like the rest
But you told me that these
Shoes would be best

You told me that I
Should never forget
That people like me
Should take what I get

I didn’t understand . . .

You explained to me
That I’m not the same
As the other girls
Like I wanted to claim

I was inferior somehow
Just not as good
Deep down I was flawed
I now understood

It wasn’t really about shoes . . .

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Thursday, September 15, 2011

Trust


It isn't that I don't trust you
It is simply that I am so afraid
The world has been so harsh for me
The past has been so painful, you see
To trust was the one mistake I made

I want to feel your love, I do
But to feel the good I must allow
Myself to feel the bad somehow
And live knowing I may be hurt by you

I know pain will come in all things
Take a chance, often regret it brings
Yet in the dawn, hope in my heart springs

I must try, or I will know
My worst fear, that you will go

Please, be patient with me.

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About Sash


People call me "Sash" because I'm a former beauty queen in my old home town. My father used to ride in an MC which got me interested in the culture. After my last divorce I said "goodbye" to Susie Homemaker and became the naughty, biker chick I always felt inside. (Read more...)