We all feel it, something about feeling something,
with your hands, your heart, soul, and eyes, feeds you.
That idea that you spend all your time on,
or that being that you hate.
The dainty press of lips, against lips, skin, bone;
The soft, calming press of hands rubbing the tense muscles;
The craving for more, first a low grumble in the heart
to a loud roaring of lust, desire, want, and love.
The instrument, loud and musical when you play it
you blow it, strum it, glide a bow over it
The feeling of power when you catch perfectly
the passion and empowerment of a flourish
Heart Beating, faster and faster,
legs reaching in each stride for more and more land
Left leg parallel to the ground,
right leg knee up toe up, drive, finish the past the line
The sound of your voice, bringing calmness
the reassuring touch of your fingers pressed on my neck
or palm or bare stomach
The sound of your voice, bringing chaos
It rattles my mind, seething with anger,
frustration pours out of my eyes and mouth,
A slap, it’s hot and quick,
I’m told to shut up, I grow in annoyance in the silence
I stay in my room locking out the yelling and screaming
and the explosion
But locking in the confusion and anxiety.
Palms sweaty, an overwhelming feeling comes over you
The feeling of a clawless cat scratching on your back,
initiating and tensing of your skin.
The velociraptor noise, piercing through your eardrums,
making a permanent ring in your ears
But what happens when you leave something untouched
It gathers dust, the want burning like a flame
until the fire burns too hot, or too cold
Or it just leaves you, it turns cold and that's all you can feel, disconnection.
But when it’s all over, it’s done
You can’t feel it anymore
and you're lonely but you have to move forward
You feel what you feel,
You feel what you are,
You are what you do,
You are do you feel,
You do what you feel,
And you want to feel so much more.