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My Beloved Fatima I Am Never Cold - Part Fourteen

Poetry By: Patricia McGurk Martin
Memoir



Not with my Beloved am I ever cold - not in the Trance Capital nor anywhere else am I cold for very long.

I raise the temperature of my body before my Beloved is cold, never shivering in my warmth although I freeze. I do this through mental imaging or just beats, thermonuclear beats in my veins as I walk though the cold, deserted night streets with blowing papers blowing past me.


Submitted:Feb 15, 2012    Reads: 10    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


MY BELOVED FATIMA I AM NEVER COLD --

PART FOURTEEN

Copyright 2012 by Patricia L. McGurk Martin Hearst Himmler Rothschild

Not with my Beloved am I ever cold - not in the Trance Capital nor anywhere else am I cold for very long.

I raise the temperature of my body before my Beloved is cold, never shivering in my warmth although I freeze. I do this through mental imaging or just beats, thermonuclear beats in my veins as I walk though the cold, deserted night streets with blowing papers blowing past me.

If this doesn't help, I seek shelter with the unwanted citizens of this world and listen to their angry, unsatisfied often immature demands once again so as not to freeze or abandon my Beloved who may be suffering in another room I can feel and sometimes hear.

I do this so I will not freeze in material realities I figured out years ago and left, after humanitarian solving or actual Acts. Eventually Spring comes and tender crocus push through the dirt, the Air with a Newness, MY Newness and My Beloved breathes again while I solve the ugly problems in every day's routine, the same old shit (S.O.S.) trying to overrule the hatred I feel for this jail that only they live in but trapped me through deceit and brutal force of anal rape including mental anal rape. Only this way did they follow me, the evil 'rectum suckers'.

They never tire of not answering their own questions and I have walked through real walls to avoid them for years, to not encounter them. I hold back my bitterness so not to poison my Beloved who sleeps in me like a child, but really as the woman I love as the Real Me.

I protect myself from the poisons I've had to swallow and I excrete the venom in a multitude of ways, never near my soul do I spit - while their angry sounds based on a false predicate enrage me.

Also coyly lowered eyes in the seductive penitence offend me, enrage me as well the coyly lowered eyes in a "religious" format insincere even deviated.

They are all so klound with nothing to say, rustling paper around me to menace me even now. I rail not at athe sound of chewing food too near me and look for class betrayal or revealed open shackles they may not carry I KNOW THAT. When do the rules ever matter?

Angry at being thwarted and forced to wait again for me, the Disabled. the one they disabled so many years ago and through the present contempt for me thrive as aggressors in tunnels everywhere and open streets.

Perhaps I am not the Disabled I say to leave them no openings this time to break into my Life again - They Will Not Enter and rip the buttons off my old Coat again.





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