Business As Usual

Positive

I thought that I would still have the time
To get it together
That is, until i saw the lines.
I lay bottomless on the basement
Floor.
Nothing to shield my body from
The burn of cold cement but
A worn blanket.
He looks at me from across the
Room, eyes devouring innocent flesh,
Visualizing deviant desires
Of how he would handle "my first time"
Caressing me in the dim light
As if he really meant it
Even though I knew he didn't
I was on my own.
No, this can't be,
Alone in a Bathroom Stall
Two lines,
Tears,
And blissful teenage dreams
Begin to fall.

©Danie Rae

"Any time you got a microphone, you got a responsibility, like it or not." -Steve Harvey

Without suffering, there would be no compassion.

A Father's Day Poem

Afterglow

Coffee Stop Chat

Today I was in the right mood to finally come talk to you,

About the way you do those crazy things you do.

Like how those eyes seem so new

Each time I accidently gazed into them

From across the room at the table in the corner right next to the kitchen,

Where only one light bulb works so you can’t see

Let along hear me wishing, 

But maybe I won’t mention all of that.

How about how the your smile lights up my day

Each time you walk up to the counter

And order a Black coffee, a blueberry muffin, and

Grab today’s paper

And when I go to hand it to you, to hand me too

And I can feel you feeling me,

Or at least I hope so,

Somewhere in between me

But let me not go there.

Maybe I’ll just talk about, compliment on, that nice new suit

You always put on, and yes you wear it well

The way it outline’s a strong silhouette,

Broad shoulders, strong back, built arms

Ooohhh I like that,

And I wonder how “it”, I mean you look without your suit

Dang, I’m doing it again.

Going from a just notice to that Stalker mood.

Crazy, not so much cool

©Danie Rae

Su Sonnet

The curtain closes for the last time

And the standing ovation now dies down,

The air always becomes quiet and kind

With only faint whispers that seem to sound.

She walks slowly toward her dressing room

And removes the final costume once more,

Looks around with feelings distinct of gloom

Of not knowing what will be next in store.

She stares at a mirror covered in scripts,

Lined with bright bulbs and pink pearls and black lace.

Tears roll down pale cheeks and dark red lips

There is no longer hope in her limp face.

The blood of a broken heart stains the floor

Gazing at the heavens, she is no more.

©Danie Rae

Breathless

Hickies

The Last memory I have of you is

On the left side of my neck;

 prominent, crimson, and noticeable.

Swollen, tender, and painful,

 And like you,

Its imprint is permanent and

Will sink deep into the crevices of my skin,

 Into the crevices of my soul.

As much as I’ve tried,

 I cannot forget.

And believe me, I’ve  tried.

There isn’t enough make-up in the world

To hide it,

Enough ice to reduce it,

Or enough cream to sooth it.

Big as the fuckin’ sun,
It still remains, you still remain.

I cannot change.

 The recovery will be slow and painful,

For with each new sunrise,

 Aside from the last sunset,

 I will touch and feel the burn.

 I will look and feel the anguish.

Big as the fuckin’ sun.

 That last time when all inhibitions

 Were lost and new ideas found.

I will look at and remember how I

Gave in to the most passionate 45 minutes of my life,

 Reaching a point of insanity that

Made my toes curl so far under,

Opened my eyes,

And made my back turn into a fuckin’ crescent.

Yes, it was that good.

I truly saw myself for who I was.

A freak, I deny it no longer.

I wear this symbol with pride.

I cannot change. I cannot forget.

I cannot change. I cannot forget.

That day you decided you wanted

To become Buffy the black girl slayer

And dig your teeth so far into my skin

That you can feel my pulse jump three times.

Trying to suck every ounce of me into you

Into me, back into you, into me again.

That last memory of you on

 The left side of my neck,

Sinking deep into my chest.

Big, red, and noticeable,

Swollen, sore, and painful.

Big as the fuckin’ sun.

©Danie Rae

Words are nothing without some emotion behind them

Nicknames

He said he'd called me Danie Rae,

And I'm like damn, its not everyday

That you come across a good nickname

That takes you away,

Not changing you into some alter-ego

Or a split personality

But damn, Danie Rae,

Seemed to describe me naturally

As for right now, or at least today.

He said that my name would be Nikki D
Because it was obviously
For the freak in me
But i clung because for once the
Middle got a chance to
Take first run
Like the middle child's first
moment
in the sun
Spotlight
It's relatable, a nickname done right

©Danie Rae

Self-Inflicted Pleasure

So, here's an

Explanation

Through the world

Of masturbation,

Not

Self-mutilation

Just self-ejaculation.

There's a common

Fascination

With this ancient stimulation

To make one's

Own sensations

That derives from

Sex

That is, relations.

Sure you’ve never

Had temptation

To relieve such

Vaginal frustrations,

As if admittance will somehow

Turn a quiet declaration

Into some kind of exploitation

Please!

A basic association

Like when

Imagination

Conjures fornication,

And what was once a

Fascination turns into

Infatuation

Which, can lead to

A fixation with

Your hand.

Stand and expand,

When natural lubrication

Brings on sudden acceleration

Of gyration and finger rotation

Until,

UNtil

UNTIL…..Ahhh Elation!

A girl's best friend

(Ladies, don't act like you don't understand)

Where sometimes in heavy situations

a woman's liberation

Comes only from vibrations.

A dildo-fucking nation!

Masturbation.

©Danie Rae

Musings of the Almost, Yet Unknown

That daze in his eye when you look at him

Looking at you looking back at him again,

The untouchable touch.

The way he bumps into you every like other day,

 Accidentally on purpose so he won’t look so obvious,

The untouchable touch.

How sweet reminders sometimes await on those

Mornings when you’re not at all your best,

The untouchable touch.

He’s so close but so far away that you can almost

Smell the lingering scent of body wash and a fresh shave,

The untouchable touch.

How his opinions sometimes mean more to you

Than those most close to you,

The untouchable touch.

Those subtleties he notices when no one else does,

 In the way you dress, your smile, your personality,

The untouchable touch.

The way his words seem to turn your insides out,

Your upsides down, you all around,

The untouchable touch.

How he creeps into your dreams and invades your most

Private of private thoughts,   becoming the lead role

In those not so G-Rated fantasies,

The untouchable touch.

How you wake up and have him still on your mind,

Feel his presence although he was never there,

The untouchable touch.

How sometimes you have to carry an extra set,

 On those off times when his voice triggers just a little bit of “wet,”

The untouchable touch.  

That one glance that always leaves you thinking “what if?”

©Danie Rae

Poetry

It is
Sharing my thoughts with

Cotton blends and streams of

Deep Blue

Only wishing to be heard by the carnal ear

Stepping onto that stage

Spotlights a blaze,

The air still

And feel the crowd

Feeling you

Hanging onto every last breath

Weaving in and out of syllables

Wrapping around the words you speak

It is…

Spoken word,

Not just words speaking

But words that actually speak

And the question is,

Is it better to

 to speak

Or to be spoken to

To hear, or to listen

 To a poem that contains

Ideas that kiss similes so deeply that metaphors get jealous

Issues tapping subliminally into your subconscious

Causing you to realize the reasons for living

Reaching far into your soul extracting

Words that allow you to

Think and remember, and inspire

Those thoughts, memories and ideas

That connect you, to that next person

Across the table,

Or across the street

Or across the world

That’s what spoken word is…

©Danie Rae

She Taught Me

When I was 5, my mother sang me lullabies,

Words that tucked me in

And kept me warm at night.

Filled my tummy with tickles,

My face with smiles,

And my heart with joy.

She said she would always be there

To sing for me.

 “More,”  I’d tell her,

“Mommy, please sing some more?

I can’t sleep.”

And she’d say,

“Hush my child, it’s time to sleep.

 It’s time to think happy thoughts.”

So I’d close my eyes and drift away.

She helped me dream.

She said she would always be there

To help me dream.

When I was 9, my mother taught me to sew,

Hands flowing like clockwork,

Weaving in and out of yards of cloth.

Shiny threads, stitched to what seems like

Around the world.

She said she made a beauty.

She said she’d always show me beauty.

 “Ouch,” I’d say, “momma, please do this for me.”

 And she would say,

“Hush my child, the pain only last for a little while,

But, the result lasts a lifetime.”

So I’d dry up my tears, and tighten my seams,

Bringing my sweet dreams into beautiful things.

She told me her work would always last.

When I was 14, my mother left me,

To walk into a bed of roses behind a small,

Cozy church in the country.  

I didn’t have her to guide me.

“Why,” I told her, “You left me in the middle, in the dark,

I need your help.”

She said, “Hush my child, it’s my time to rest.

The pain will only last a little while.

I’ve helped you, I’ve helped you to dream,

I've showed you beauty, and my work for you will last.

I’ve helped you, now it’s time for you to let me be.

 You have me.”

So I watched as she lay down,

And asked, “Where is your beauty?

Where is your work?”

I gazed at the face in the reflection that carved marble

Gave off in the rain, and heard,

“It is in here.”

©Danie Rae

Wet Dream

Dearest September

Dearest September,

Warm we with your

Bright days and

Cool nights.

When the leaves start to fade, i

Want to remember why

They fall

And why earth’s cycle

Hangs delicately in the

Wind

Life blooms in the bright

But the colors have deepen

So our time has come to an end

Dearest September, I can

Only wait until God blows

Your breeze back through

My hair once again.

©Danie Rae