PAPERCUT

I lick the tip of the paper,

slowly.

Feeling its sharpness

as it slide across my tongue.

The sensation tingles pleasure to my mouth.

My lips quiver at the wetness of the sheet.

I remember you.

From a memory lost a long time,

You were my god.

I wasn't told you were screwed-up,

Yet I loved you anyhow.

It wasn't a lifetime with you, I know.

Neither was it a whirlwind love, but you know,

I got to admit, you took all my innocence.

All the desire, all the bliss,

All the good things,

I owe them all to you, yes.

Though you're gone,

Your lust lives in me,

You've cast your shadow,

on a soul liberally unfree.

It's not you but what you've made me,

That, which will last forever.

This road goes on infinitely.

And as I hold my pen

to write the story of my life,

My thought wanders to the place

where I danced with you all night.

Intoxicated, you told me you love me

And swore upon your cigarette

that I will be your one and only.

It was a pact upon that smoke,

that I still strongly hold on to.

I liked it that way.

That I was nothing more

or less than your woman.

The one and only.

But, in what sense did you mean that?

You gait across the room,

Your eyes so sharp.

Were you looking for a prey?

I did love it.

I yearned for it.

Maybe to be torn apart, like papercut.

You held me with those strong hands,

turned me around and said,

"Baby, you're mine.

Look me in the eye,

I've got you all right."

Dysthymia

     I’m feeling insecure with my language and teaching skills. The more I teach, the more I want to cringe in self-pity and helplessness. The more I work in this profession, the less I feel the joy. It seems like whatever I set myself to do backfires in the end. Whatever passion I had eventually trickles to nothing. I feel ashamed of myself; I feel like a hole void of light and hope. I have emptied myself of the remaining meager life that I created back in time when I was still full of youthful idealism.