What She Sends Me: Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse Poem

She sends me
Photos
Showing her beauty.
All of it.
I didn’t ask.
I actually never have.
Well, maybe sometimes.
When I was lonely.
Back in the day.
Like yesterday.

But this time,
Really,
I didn’t ask.
They just showed up.
First,
Selfies in a mini-van.
Selfies in the kitchen.
Then,
golden-lighted,
(the way bedroom lights glow)
Copper-tonedskincolors
FromherbedohmyheckthatsAMAZING
Surprise.

But not so much.
Because many do it.
Just as, I’m sure,
Many ask for it.

So it should be no shock
To anyone
That almost everyone
Probably has gotten them
Or has probably sent them
(Except the Supreme Court
Who simply passed on
The envelope
Without even looking.)

Does thinking about it
makes you sick?
Yes.
Just like it
makes me ill.
Punched in the stomach.
Kicked in the heart.

Because I and you like
to think
We are unique
And sacred
And wanted
Only.

And I and you don’t want
to imagine
That we are common
And cheap
And normal
And doing what
Almost
Everyone else does
Or has least thought about.

I feel sadillsickpunchedkicked
Especially when
I look at the pictures
And know they weren’t taken
Today
Or last night,
For just me,
But weeks or months ago
For someone else
And I am just an afterthought,
a “may as well”,
A “I wonder what he’ll think”,
A “this should surprise him.”

Being ordinary
Makes me sadillsickpunchedkicked
And cry
And hide.

In my corner,
cowering,
contemplating,
I wonder
When I get them,
“Why me?”
Do I have
“PERVERT” or “VOYEUR”
Or “TYPICAL GUY”
or “PIGDOGRUNTMEATHEAD”
Stamped across my forehead?
Does my London Fog coat
Look like I could flash it open
At any moment?

Or do I just get those photos
Because I’m a guy
And guys like that type of stuff
And guys like that are pigs
And all guys are pigs
Therefore I should be sent those photos
To prove to her and everyone else
That I’m a pig,
And that I’m not worthy of her time.

She’d never send those photos
To “him”.
He’s too straight-laced
She says,
And would probably faint
And then write her off
And dump her.

Noooo! She,
Wearing lace
collars,
Church-going,
Righteous,
Sunday School
Or women’s auxiliary
Teacher
Or holy music
Leader
On her way to minister
To the sick
And the lonely
And the depressed
And oppressed,
That’s not the her
Who she wants to be
To herself
Or anyone else
Who matters.
Especially not
To him.

She is that good person.
I see her like that.
So does everyone else.
He, especially.

So he gets mini-van selfies
And kitchen selfies
And selfies with both of them
Happy on the trail
Or at dinner
Or at sunset
Or on the beach
Or doing something wonderful.

Sweet, gentle, peaceful selfies,
Graceful,
Censored by life,
Until the time he gets to see
Everything she wants to show him
In person.
Because he is worthy
Of getting nothing now
And everything later.

While I,
Who try so hard
Not to be “that type”,
Not to be known “like THAT,”
Get unsolicited
Golden bedroom light photos
That keep filling up
My texts
And computer-file folders
And mind
With selfie smiles
I can’t forget
But won’t ever get.

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A True Princess Room: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

A true princess room/
should be pink and frilly, laced/
with some green and gold.

Meeting of the Minds: Romantic ConTEXTing Haiku

Do you remember/
this place? The smile it put on/
your face? It still can.

What Your Bedroom Needs: Romantic IMprov Prose

I go through reams and reams of paper, in my mind, about your statement: “This is my bedroom, my sanctuary, my refuge. The only thing it needs is a Man.” I come up with this prose argument:

“No, you don’t need ‘a Man’ for your bedroom. You need a gentleman who fits the decor.

You need someone gently warm, like your glowing fireplace, who can remove your coolness and pain with the caress of his hand or his calming, tender embrace.

You need someone who, even when the lights are up, is dark and mysterious, someone who has edges and soulful mysteries yet to be discovered.

You need someone who, like the scented candles you’ve lined up, knows how to show and illuminate your soul with a soft and tender light, knows how to move through your space with romance and tranquility and a scent that moves you.

You need someone who, like your blankets and deep, rich comforter, knows how to wrap you and hold you and keep you safe and warm and secure and protected without smothering you.

You need someone who, like your wall hangings and tapestry, is moved and inspired by classic beauty, who reflects that classic vision himself, and who enjoys the dream of travel to distant places, yet knows that a gentle countryside and nature close to home are just as peaceful and tranquil as a Tuscan countryside.

You need someone who, like the music surrounding you, even in the dark, knows how to soothe, inspire, uplift and energize you, depending on the mood you set.

You need someone who, like the plants in your room, understands, appreciates and lives with and in and through and because of nature and her beauties.

You need someone who, like the photos of your children, adores and embraces family, someone who is not only an example and a leader, but a friend to younger people.

You need someone who, like the deep, rich, well-worn leather books, can share with you wisdom, knowledge and understanding without saying a word.

You need someone who, when the candles go out, when the music drifts away and the final notes hang in the still air, when the glowing embers fade away with their last bit of heat, can wrap you like the night, be there with and by you in the soft darkness, and listen to you as you pour out your mind, your heart, your soul.

You want someone who you can hold hands with while you’re sitting on the edge of your bed,

someone who will rub your feet, forehead, back, calves when you’re tired, not with the firm, oafish crush of a strong, untrained hand, but with the firm yet gentle caress of hands practiced in touching beauty in all her forms,

someone who is not afraid of holding you in the dark as you drift off to sleep,

someone who is not afraid to awaken next to you in the morning and, holding you close and whispering in your ear, tell you that, even in the early morning, no makeup, bed-head, and all, you are beautiful and he is overjoyed and inspired just to be with you.

That is who your bedroom needs.