Woah, it’s been a minute (or 6 months) since my last time Facing It. It’s a global pandemic, though; that makes it OK to pause my progress toward overcoming addiction, right? Asking for a friend.
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“You discreet? I’m married on the DL.” Thanks, dude. If Cheaters ever returns on air, I can’t wait to be a blurred face running away from the site of our indiscretion with this song in mind.
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I should probably be writing this in pencil so it’s easier to erase any trace back to me. I’m boiling over, though, and I’m afraid if I don’t express it, I’ll erupt.
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Go f*ck yourself. That’s severe; let me rephrase. Go to hell. Ok, ok. I can do better; I’m just fussy because I’m wondering if any of this even matters by this point. Am I too far gone? Let’s see…
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Things are getting a bit hairy here. Winter is coming on strong, and my best defense is sprouting to keep me safe and warm, but how long will it be before I can’t place the face peering back at me? Just the thought of it makes me bristle.
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Do you hear that? It sounds like a smash hit…kidding! More like smashed to bits. I don’t think anyone is ready to take this call.
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The desperation is practically pouring off of me; you can see it, right? Take a closer look…is that the mad dash of emotion brimming beneath the surface or something far more sinister? All is fair in love and transformation tactics.
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Oh hey, there you are. Have you been waiting here long? I didn’t realize it was my responsibility to get in contact with you. Don’t try to turn this around on me. You’re just as capable of coming up with something. Well? What do you have to say for yourself?
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Will I ever shed this skin, the one that makes me feel like such a bottom feeder? No matter where I crawl to, there is always a hard surface getting in my way. Well, if you can’t cocoon, rule the room.
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Too soft for Penthouse. Too hard for Bon Appétit. I’m not sure where this sweet story fits as it swirls on the tongue, ready to be released. Perhaps a lick off the top will do me good; I just can’t match that rush.
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Yep…it will be like entering into a black hole to try and explain this one. I’m not sure if the wonky stars dancing around my head are even bright enough to find the end of this excerpt. Who will put me back together again?
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Is it playtime already? Based on the excitement I’m seeing on the screen, all nipples (and other parts) are pointing to an emphatic "Yes!” When “Right Now” correlates with the rising of the sun, who can stop the orange mask in its filtered tracks?
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The webs I weave…I wish I could be more patient, like a spider. When I begin to spin for control, though, it always twists and turns into chaos. Then, I’m wrapped up in shame with no one else to blame but myself. Ugh…
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Will it be door number 1, door number 2, or door number 3? If I choose correctly, the truth may be revealed on the other side. Or it might just be a series of more doors, more choices, more mistakes, more doubts…oh boy. I’ve really stepped in it this time.
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How high can I go? Do the words flow easier when I’ve taken off into the clouds or does that make more thunder rumble? Every cloud has a silver lining, let’s see where the edge of this one takes me.
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As my heart reaches for the pen, my hands reach for my…I don’t know if this lyrical project to overcome any and all sexual addiction will result in any music from the heart; still, I stand firm in my resolve to unload.
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When the clouds roll in, the clouds puff out. In my first attempt at poetry, I freestyle in hopes of bringing the light to my life. Is that a skunk? No, just part of the current creative process. The sun will come out tomorrow, though, right?
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