Malcolm James Furst
Words, words, wordsArchive for tension
Your Picture
After all these years,
I found your picture on a friend’s Facebook page,
and when I look at you,
a small part of me (a very small part)
thinks that wanting you,
having you,
would steal the wonder of you away from a deserving world.
But mostly,
when I see you, and your eyes,
(those eyes!)
full of hope and joy, I just want you.
I want you all to myself.
I want you completely.
And I want to give myself to you holding nothing back.
But you’re a continent away,
and you have undoubtedly forgotten
the pull between us,
the tension,
the lust,
the powerful urges.
And you have undoubtedly forgotten
the push between us,
the pain,
the anger,
the heartache;
Otherwise,
your eyes wouldn’t be so
full of hope
and joy.
Rant-Please Disregard
The problem with dedicating my life to other people is that at some point, there’s nothing left for me. It’s great to be of service and all—and as much as I say it would be so much easier if I had taken a 9-to-5 job that I could leave at the office, I know that I’d be unhappy serving the almighty dollar—but I just want a day off. A whole day off. A day off from work, from home repairs, from cooking, from cleaning. A day to order take-out, watch cable T.V., stay in my sweats all day.
As soon as I get one thing finished, another project emerges from my pile. And yes, the people I serve are grateful, well, most of them, but there’s a point when that gratitude isn’t enough. Maybe I’ve just forgotten the gifts and the praise. And the enormous mountain of good kharma.
Maybe I just need to shed some of this tension, get up tomorrow, and start again. Hell, what I really need is a sugar mama.
Malcolm James Furst 