The Hero Inside by Maria Gornell

He says they’re all pretenders
They all lie,
So he mounts them like a beast
Releasing his seed
Unconsciously hoping
For a miracle child?

I say fuck weekend
Wonder boys hissing
Down my ear
Metaphors of lost love
Needy childhood eyes.
Demanding I be grateful
For a quick thrust or
Suckling on my nipple

He says be grateful
For small mercy’s,
One night stands
With Bukowski wannabe’s
Who I’ll be able to
Write about
As soon as he’s died,
Pissed up apathy
Riding the underground
Searching aimlessly
For women
who always fall short.

I reply
With woman’s needy cries
That I know will be ignored
I’m supposed to be strong
Obsessed with flesh,
Staring at men crotches
With a pussy on fire
Realistic about impossibilities
Of finding true love,
Whipping myself dry
With home truth’s
And lies..

He’s dead to me
I’m numb to him,
His seed failing to
Awaken my passion,
My heart failing to
Reach his mind,
We are sordid
Melancholy beings,
One taking refuge
In bottles
And empty soulless fucks,
The other
Inhaling life,
High hopes
Finally alive
Not knowing
If she can ever find
The hero that lies


Anonymous said...

Wow a side of your work I have not seen before. One of your better poems I must say.

Anonymous said...

The heart always belongs to the poetry - not to money, not to popularity, not to anything...
It is my personal opinion, it can be different from yours.

Chris Malaise said...

This is remarkable.


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