i met god

I love this Poem!
An amazing Poet! For more go to “The Freedom Of – Drunk Conversations and My Boring Life”.

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The Freedom Of

i met god and She was black,
as black as the lies on Her lips
the music. the lullaby.
the song She sings at us.

i met god and She was blacker
than the thoughts,
the ones that make my knuckles bleed,
the ones that feed the demons
behind my muscles.

i met god in the middle of
an empty parking lot.
i was sitting in my car
and She fucked me.

She tasted like the sea
like the salt-black pool
that sits in my stomach
and bleeds out my pores.
She smelled like me.

i met god and Her
movements were selfish.
She was brief, She was gone
i was left naked, cold
with no answers told,
no direction.

i met god and She fucked me black.
i met god and She fucked me.

“i met god”

©Steven Cuenca

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reality check of sorts

After this mornings panic fuck, it took most of the day to recover … thanks to the cunts next door who are still renovating, the vibrating of the house meant that the ‘calming’ process was made harder … but I shouldn’t blame them I suppose … but who cares right? They’ll never know … so I’ll blame them 😉

So its 1230 and I’m fucked. And now I’ve got some more decisions to make .. and because I can’t quite get a coherent thought together, I’m gonna bullet point this bitch – so I can get it all out and hopefully make some sense of it all …

And We can call it a poem – just so it seems a little flasher than what it really is …


  • I didn’t take a sedative today.
  • I lived through the panic.
  • I survived the phone call.
  • I didn’t suffocate whilst dripping snot and tears.
  • Bonus.
  • I’m on 1/4 antihistamine now.
  • I’m itchy as a mofo.
  • I know it’ll pass.
  • I’ve got an appointment with the psychologist on Wednesday.
  • Turns out the partner is supposed to take some twat to the airport.
  • It’ll work out he reckons.
  • I don’t do ‘it’ll work out’ as an outcome.
  • Wednesday is payday.
  • Paydays are fucked days.
  • The day before payday is a fucked day.
  • Oh, its not My payday.
  • I feel vulnerable.
  • I feel like a child.
  • I feel like I’m at the whim of someone elses emotions.
  • And I don’t like it.
  • Do I cancel the appointment.
  • Post pone the appointment maybe.
  • Is that weak.
  • Or smart.
  • Cos I know how that day is gonna pan out.
  • And it won’t be pretty.
  • For Me.
  • Unless of course I take a sedative.
  • And then I aint gonna remember much of the day anyway.
  • If I go, I need to get blood taken as well.
  • I wanted it to be a calm day.
  • Had made time to have coffee with my daughter.
  • She’s a newly trained barista.
  • Yum.
  • Then my appointment.
  • Then home.
  • Whilst ignoring the partners mood.
  • I can do that.
  • But new shit thrown in there.
  • Ahhhh.
  • The airport twat would come home with us first.
  • Which means I’d hear her talking for 40 minutes.
  • Not sure that I can do that.
  • Well I can.
  • But it wouldn’t be pretty.
  • For her. Or the partner.
  • I don’t care about that really.
  • So maybe thats the option.
  • Roll with the cluster fuck.
  • Drop a sedative or 2 if need be.
  • Make sure I have a humungous coffee.
  • Oh, and ear muffs.


use to think


to look outside


was a character-


that was



held by mamas,

plural –


but it aint.

in fact




has led me

to believe,

that instead

of this character-


being pretty common;

it is actu-


not held by manys.

cos manys are



pretty self-absorbed




just some times

Sometimes I look around me

and then think to my little quirky self …

“Just be normal for fucks sakes!

For once in your life,

Try and be fucking normal.”

And then Forest Gumps Mama springs to mind:

“Stupid is as stupid does”.

And I realise that that quote has absolutely


nothing to do with any train of thought

about being normal.

And I realise,

at this point, that

I am well

and truly,



there aint no normal coming out of the closet any time

in the near, or not so near,


*she rocked though … ol Forests Mama*

no i’m not ~ responding #9

contrary to popular belief

i am not here for:

your pleasure

your ogling

your hands

your dick.

i am not here for:

you to tell me to smile

to act like a lady

to speak quieter

to be quiet.

i am not here for:

you to moan at

to cry too

to comfort

to console.

i am not here for:

you to learn

to observe

to quote

to re write.

i am not here to:

teach you about me

usher you around the edges

coddle and envelope


i am here

because I am here.

No more.

No less.

it ran out … period

Have you ever been in a vehicle that has run out of petrol?

I have.

You can feel it losing it’s power …

Slowly, but surely.

And as you look at the petrol gauge,

and you know the inevitable is about to happen,

a few things run through your head.

‘Pretty sure I just gassed up

‘Oh shit


‘What am I gonna do now … ‘

And then the inevitable happens.

Your vehicle stops.

It doesn’t politely pull over first.

Or indicate that it wants to pull over.


It just … stops.

And what you do next,

is pivotal.

You can sit there for a while.

Pondering on the what ifs and whys.

Ruminate on the ‘if onlys’.

Doesn’t make the vehicle start-up now does it.

You can get out of the vehicle and ponder on the same.

Nope. No starting up there either.

You can even kick the vehicle,

smash a couple of windows, even the engine

if you wish.

It still won’t start.

How do you make it start again?

Thats right.

Get more gas.


So why is it,

when We run out of gas … out of steam … out of energy

We are expected to just start-up again?


Shit really don’t work that way!


expression ~ pts(d) #200

I think I’m finished with this section for now.

I feel like I’ve ‘described’ all I can,

all I want too,

about what it ‘looks’ like,

‘feels’ like,

to be the disturbed,

awkward owner

of the pts fucking d


I’ll leave you with this:

It’s not mine,

but I love it …

and that’s what this section of ‘expression’

has been about …

expressing my Truth.

mauri of me #17

slow and steady.

little by little

my view is changing

i know it is

i can feel it,

see it.

what i notice,

is the same,

but better.

who i notice,

is the same,

but different.


i knew i would

i could

just didn’t know

how, or when.


i’m a resourceful bish

like that.

1976 was the year …







size of a palm


length of an arm

climbing up

to get a seat

can’t reach the milk,

Grandad can pass


and pour


click clack

Nan’s heels

are too big



a big girl,

a pretty dress

pretty shoes


at Grandad

smiles and sways

to Nan’s songs

very small

very large






what and where

to be

light and love

to be


to laugh

to sing

darkness come


clammy hands

putrid stench

one flick your wrist



shreds life



tormented you

despising smallness


filthy disease

screaming fear

relish pain







no one will hear



the bogey man






there is a separate god for children


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another thought … re MDD


just maybe … 

the medical ‘profs’ and

assistance ‘profs’,

leave MDD diagnosis for a shit load

length of time … 

as a natural culling process???


Not funny?

I thought it was … 😉