FRUSTRATING FRUSTRATION by Abby Jean

Jan 10 ’17

Frustration.
My jaw clenched.
Tightness between my shoulder blades.
Fight or Flight mode activated.
Tension.

Frustration.

My swallow is a gulp.
It makes a loud noise.
Amongst the silence where I sit.
Cross legged on the floor.
Lotus pose on my sheepskin rug.

Frustrated.

Emotions, swelling…
Swelled emotions.
My heart ripping strands as it reaches for air.
Gasps for Love.
For attention.

Frustrating.

Where are you.
What do you want from my being.
When you pay me mind.
What is the root, to your intention.
What is the route to your root.

Frust….

I lust for you from morning till dawn.
From dusk straight through to dusk.
Through my dreams during REM.
You’re always there.
Since the moment you came, you’re always there.

Frustration.

How do I pocket you.
How do I contain my passion.
Fuck containing –
How do I cool my passion.
The flames, how do I cool the flames.

Fuck.

Pitta has the wheel.
Passion is the fiercest force.
Cooooool dowwwwwnnnnn.
Where are you.
I want you, I want you now, always.

Obsession, obsessed.
No.
Addicted, addiction.
I am addicted to you, no.
I am addicted to Love.

Love is so euphoric.
So fucking euphoric.
Love.
The word alone makes me orgasm.
Love, and my panties are wet.

Frustration.

I write it out.
I start to feel my shoulders relax.
I write it out in deep breaths.
I need you so bad my poetry.
I need you by desperation my art.

Who else could ever possibly understand me.
Who else could ever possibly be there for me.

Fucking Frustrated.

Habitually I fiend for you.
As if you have the everything I need.
It’s not true, I know better.
Routinely I crave you to fill my holes.
My heart holes… my mind holes… my body holes.

Fill them. Fill me.

Dopamine sits on the edge of the bench.
Foot tapping anxiously.
Waiting to be called in.
Waiting to play the field.
Dopamine, you sly fox.

Fill my cells.
Send the signals.
Gimme that pleasure.
Gimme that euphoria that lacks a comparison.
Love, gimme fucking Love.

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