Anxious Honesty

The voice in my head is telling me I’ve wasted two years on a dream that will never come true. I had a book idea and I ran with it. I didn’t fight hard enough for it though.

More and more, my husband seems to get mad that I’m not working on my book. That I’m not bringing in any money. That I’m just ‘lounging’ around the house.

It doesn’t matter that I clean the house top to bottom by myself. I weed the gardens and mow the lawn and whippersnip, by myself. I feed the cats and dogs day and night by myself. I do the laundry, by myself. I make the appointments for both of us. Keep a running list of things. Try to be the voice of reason more often than not. (I will admit he helps on occasion, but not near enough…)

I wish I was bringing in money. I wish I had fought harder for my book. It feels like the only choice is to abandon it entirely. It’s not what I want, but I always put everyone else ahead of me.

But then that leaves me with a blog and a twitter account that serve no real purpose anymore, right?

So, I’ve applied to part-time jobs in the mean time. I’ve started freelance transcribing again for Rev. I’ve created a Ko-Fi account in hopes of some additional help so that I can keep writing.

I want to keep writing, I really do, but this voice tells me there’s no point anymore. If I was really passionate about it, I’d be somewhere other than editing, right?

Anyways, that’s the end, (I think), of my self-pitying post. I had to say it before it ate me alive though I still think it might.

 

https://ko-fi.com/kemwriting is the link to donate to my creative path. I’m sure after a decent cry, I’ll be up to fighting again…

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Passion’s Pyre

Music pounded above the chatter

the beat louder than the melody

but she swayed to it.

 

Downing her whiskey in a chug

she rose from the table

and danced to the center of the writhing bodies.

 

Surrounded on all sides

she twirled her lithe form

like a lustful seductress.

 

Sex filled the air as she danced.

Warm, liquid, and kinky.

Begging behind the bars of it’s cage.

 

His electric touch summoned her.

The promise of fulfillment

on his velvet lips.

 

Pulled into a dark room

She tasted the sweet liquer

Of his passion.

 

Wrapped about his waist

he pounded at her chains

and she moaned for freedom.

 

Her nails dug into his shoulders

Desperate to hold on

Drawing a groan from him.

 

Sweat beaded on their foreheads

Its scent beneath the musk of need

And in a cry they succumbed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lust

Slithers through the heart strung veins,
Claiming every mortal fiber.
Alight in its wicked reins,
Its urge turning us to fire.
 
Fingers dance on naked flesh.
Bodies writhe, thrust, and plead.
Digging deep, its calls distressed.
Give in and fulfill its burning need.
 
Fall into the blissful state,
Desire brings it bound prey.
Grind, arch into your mate.
Find ecstasy in the risque.
 
Lust, I’m told, it is a sin,
And only the selfish win.

Lust’s Collapse

Finger tips trace

Lover’s soft skin.

Lips meet

Share more than words.

Need.

Pure want for it

That beguiling touch.

Bask in passionate warmth

Skin to skin.

Bodies move as one

Synchronized.

Climbing higher

Higher.

Sweat forms.

Fevered moans.

Heads tossed back

To greet Ecstasy.

Cries ring out,

Trembling flesh

Atop heavy breaths.

Collapse

In Sweet Climax.