Comments Posted By La Bête becomes Man

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boyfriend

I got one chance to be a good boyfriend.

In this moment of second chances, I think I’m aiming a little higher.
Like the top. Where just right writing happens. A full woman, who
handles her own problems and expects me to handle mine.
I want to be the boyfriend of a girl who doesn’t just teach me French
or Spanish, but languages. Whatever language I feel like when I wake.

(I tried different countries without every leaving home. I’m sick
writing. I wake every day asking how long my punishment
will be. “Hit me.. punch me if you want to”)

I might be beast, but I don’t want a girlfriend doesn’t push me physically.
I want to be a boyfriend for someone who doesn’t just tap into my problems.
Bitch, I got 99 and one of those.
I want someone that makes me better in every way womanly possible.

(So right now, I’m going to be completely ugly. Right now, I’m so weak.
Right now, I’m bad at everything I could ever think of.

Because right now, I’ve never looked better. Right now, I’ve never been stronger.
Right now, I’m learning languages of any kind and studying harder than
I ever have. And for the woman for me, this isn’t enough.
So when I do meet this girl, I’ll be fluent in languages she’s spoken
since birth. When I do meet this girl, she’s hot, knows it, and just doesn’t give a fuck.
Except when she does, she can hold herself up with her legs wrapped backwards
around my waist. So she can be my fuck goddess. My mast.)

And when she finds me, I’ll have worked as much as my talent has grown. Maybe then
the ADD and the stutter will leave me.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 01.15.2015 @ 10:23 pm

Stargirl, stargirl,
Have you been writing.

Stargirl. Stars, girl.
Have your new boyfriend.

Stars, girl, stars every morning, leftover from night.
Have you been trying

To move your eyes from the scarred scarlet salvation?
Stargirl, from my radio tower hear,
why do you only speak in tears and uncompared hatred now?
Stargirl, stargirl, if I could tell you the self suffering,
condemned by this neverending punishment, your tears
could nourish the flowers carried by your shoulders’ blades.

Yet, whatever it is that controls me, light cannot travel, and darkness
cannot see, and all I can share about me are the Cities of Glass
in my Mind of Stars. I took you there once, remember? A train without tracks,
the title of a book the never existed.. just genetics. Let it draw. Draw of
dreams and draw in awe.

and a rape that had not happened

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 01.15.2015 @ 9:57 pm

allowed

allowed
shroud
cloud
proud
mound mount month months
how many months will I be able
to allow myself to think this way

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 08.03.2014 @ 11:53 pm

duct

duct fucked
bucked and sucked

chance is luck, abrupt
erupt corrupt and stuck
one.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 06.19.2014 @ 1:38 am

duct
like the ones you crawl through
like the feelings you can’t see through
through the bearings
through the wheels
duct
like the tape that I wrapped around your heart
like the litotes you forgot
ducking duct fucking fuck.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 06.19.2014 @ 1:36 am

bonfire

I wasn’t going to post this until finishing the climax…but maybe I’ll just leaving you hanging for a second part

“I don’t forget. Do I ever?
Turn around, bare your neck
your body’s about to get wrecked.
Slut.

You want to leave your legs spread?
We’re at dinner, naughty, naughty, bitch…
Stop moving. I’m beginning to to think you disobey me
on purpose. Like you enjoy being punished.
But tonight’s is pure pain.
Hold your fucking body still.
God damn it.
I’m tightening your collar
Oh, I have a surprise for you too.
Remember the melted wax I dripped all over your clit?

Well tonight guess where I’m dripping it.
Painal.
I’m letting it dry and crust. I’m gonna sodomize you
Aw, your tears are making me harder. Calm the fuck down before
you choke and pass out and really piss me off.

Mm.

That’s better. But I know you know I don’t
forget.”

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 05.30.2014 @ 2:14 pm

I wasn’t going to post this until finishing the climax…but maybe I’ll just leaving you hanging for a second part

“I don’t forget. Do I ever?
Turn around, bare your neck
your body’s about to get wrecked.
Slut.

You want to leave your legs spread?
We’re at dinner, naughty, naughty, bitch…
Stop moving. I’m beginning to to think you disobey me
on purpose. Like you enjoy being punished.
But tonight’s is pure pain.
Hold your fucking body still.
God damn it.
I’m tightening your collar
Oh, I have a surprise for you too.
Remember the melted wax I dripped all over your clit?

Well tonight I’m dripping it across your ass
and letting dry and crust. I’m gonna sodomize you
Aw, your tears are making me harder. Calm the fuck down before
you choke and pass out and really piss me off.

Mm that’s better. But I know you know I don’t
forget. “

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 05.30.2014 @ 1:56 pm

sultry

How can I avoid writing about sultry?
I have been actually. Really, truly.
To take breaks

Lust poetry

Are those my veins you were speaking of?
I think so
I love that lust

I’ve begun my first chapter

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 05.28.2014 @ 12:26 pm

unknown

Pour ma Soeur

A sweet morning that I have owed my sister for too long.
The definition of delayed gratification.

Even during the day, it smells like cigarettes and urine.
The bookstore smells used. The sun’s just a little dilapidated today.
Maybe it’s the coffee. I haven’t had any today.

I’ve been a little off, a little angrier than usual.
I haven’t been finishing my thoughts, just dreamdrips caught in my voice.

That changes now. When I write, I write so violently,
every single eye in the center of Portland watches me
in the middle of the day.

When I write, my hand’s yell at the audience
“Fuck off”
“This writer is more important than you”

When I walk, I leave foot molds in the bricks below…

this is been a real life oneword for my sister,
your brother eternally,
Doctor Zeus.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 05.20.2014 @ 9:49 am

severe

Just so you know, I do want to talk to you. I said I didn’t out of spite.
It’s hard to make time to speak with you though. To select the most important things I want you to know in one phone call. A phone call that slips quickly into one with darker intent.

I’m guessing it’s the same for you, that we both think it’s healthy to want to speak with each other. Life is different. Or really, back to how it was. It’s not amazing with a cursive capital Z, but it’s good too. Oh, and writing. Writing will forever be my definition of Amazing.

oneword: actually [read aloud] //

When I say I’m telling the truth, I am. I am speaking the truth.

Actually.

I need a break from myself,

I am savage and relentless
in every detail of my life.

A coffee? Three cups, not one. Black,
I don’t want to tone it down with cream.

Writing? Let’s try every word, one of each punctuation, things that don’t make sense, things that make too much sense. Every way, every style. Something that the reader can hear in my low, cigarette-burnt voice.

I won’t claim that I am the first person to try something. Sometimes I do.
But I have tried so many things. I have experienced more than a simple, wild man from Oregon should be able to experience. My body has the sensitivity and my mind has the capacity? I guess.

And all… that… it’s… left me with…

is being saturated with desire and wanting
and wanting more. All. The. Time.

This has been so painful to write.
Hand wounds breaking back open.
That’s when, no matter what I end up thinking,
I know I’m going to write it real damn well.

So can’t I just be satisfied with simple pleasures?
Complex lusts are just so difficult. But. They’re the only lusts.
Simple attraction isn’t enough for me. Give me more.

…I need a break from myself. Who can handle me?
I’m fucking insane.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 05.15.2014 @ 12:03 am

wilderness

A city of hearts.

Separate hand from fiction.

Remove the writer.

Sexy. Night’s been holding back
holding back so hard, letting out
the pain soaked sun at six.

It’s still sweaty. Walk out the
front. Forgot my skin was dark
until the night burnt me.

Was it my jaw? My scars. Or the
beads dripping on my neck,
sliding down to my forearms.
Why did you stare? I warned you…

You can touch them. Feel
them. While they lift you. Hold
them. While they hold you.
What’s one more scar, maybe you know.

Then beg for one more breath,
wrapped around your neck, too tender,
Fuck You. Break you.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 05.12.2014 @ 9:58 am

reminded

maybe it’s
the coffee

writing for hours
through sunrise, no interruptions

dark roast at starbucks
sometimes burnt

why is this one so different
is it because she’s there:

hands, torn and retorn
opening moving crushing
dirty powerful reflexive

boxcuts repeated
resliced, too fast
scars vine around my fists

but writing
with a lust few know
biting the cap
breaking it
crushing its ink
my words tear away at the rough
passion smears off the pages
into a glance
want to see what I’ve been writing..
I think you’ll like it

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 05.03.2014 @ 11:09 am

What is wanting more

focused spelling it confused

stability contentment but yearning for more

breaking my psychotic halfcraze tempo
like the break that began it all

i broke a glass flower at work

its box gashed the boxcutter’s cuts all across my hands…with staples

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 05.03.2014 @ 8:35 am

Dreams reminding
even when I’ve let go
my heart controls my mind
and sabotages my ability to forget.

Yes no requests
and what ifs…

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 05.02.2014 @ 7:24 pm

desolate

A Stable Hate

You can’t take away
coffee
adderall..
stimulation.

Why do you think I
hold my peace?

Why do you think I
look like a silent killer.
my veiled face
an open threat?

When I pick up in one month what
took you ten years, I’m focused, cunt.

So you think I’m cocky. So you want
to interfere with my thoughts.
So you want to touch
my back.

Fine then, I’ll break my peace.
Then I’ll break into the chainsaw blades
wrap them around the edges of the shears.
Start a little fear.

A silent killer
kill kill killing
silently.

You know, I am just so focused.
I’m not usually. I usually daydream
while I’m dreaming.

So when I am,
when you make my only thought
about why you should be murdered,
you have already sacrificed yourself.

The only thing you’ll hear
is the nerve of hatred caught
in my jaw’s grind.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 05.01.2014 @ 9:01 am

heartfelt

Stillness & heartfelt.

I am about to become a much darker person.
Maybe that’s where my truest
skill lies.

I am condemned already
of all my other achievable dreams
redemption
can’t be found.

Just
beautiful darkness.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.25.2014 @ 7:48 am

Anger
if only there was one definition
if only
if only it dimmed and died
if only I didn’t dwell and replay
until day arrived
I wanted so hard to change
myself
It haunts my tone
my walk a taunt
face so gaunt
“Is something wrong?”
Something’s not right.
Everywhere I go
I try to stop breaking things
but everything breaks
around me
so let me teach you
the definition of hate until
you hate yourself.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.25.2014 @ 7:35 am

stillness

My voice
of the daylight
rips into night’s
calm void

It penetrates
a star’s inside
splitting
exploding

Destroyer of stars
space can’t stop it
wrecking
breaking
quiet’s definition erased

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.24.2014 @ 9:46 am

I’ve been
writing everything but
what I know I should.
It’s about the caller’s calling.
It’s about brainstorming a storyboard
of a night told in reverse
from early morning
to late night

because then it would be
like a normal shift
from early morning
to late night
in forward.

It would be about the
unknown wickedness
wrapping my soul
barbed coils piercing
my values.
I breathe relief. Puncture
the anger, relieve me of it.
Is my punishment eternal?

But it’s not the same, I can’t
start in reverse.
All the subdued anger
but no subduer in the weak
of night.

The stillness of dusk.
I am alert for the entirety,
though short
and insignificant,
of night. I know
the dusk written across
scars, more scars still.

There is one redeeming
quality, that outweighs
anything.
That renders the anger in the first
half of the night
and its echo in the second
meaningless.

Just past midnight
when the night is weakest
they watch me
in stillness
and I dream
my cherry dream awake;
I am me looking down on myself
looking up at myself. Their twenty five
hearts blink redder than cherries
brighter than stars
where sky
becomes space,
where these radio
towers are the callers
calling.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.24.2014 @ 9:42 am

I’ve been
writing everything but
what I know I should.
It’s about the caller’s calling.
It’s about brainstorming a storyboard
of a night told in reverse
from early morning
to late night

because then it would be
like a normal shift
from early morning
to late night
in forward.

It would be about the
unknown wickedness
wrapping my soul
barbed coils piercing
my values.
I breathe relief. Puncture
the anger, relieve me of it.
Is my punishment eternal?

But it’s not the same, I can’t
start in reverse.
All the subdued anger
but no subduer in the weak
of night.

The stillness of dusk.
I am alert for the entirety,
though short
and insignificant,
of night. I know
the dusk written across
scars, more scars still.

There is one redeeming
quality, that outweighs
anything.
That renders the anger in the first
half of the night
and its echo in the second
meaningless.

In stillness
they watch me
at 1:30 ante meridiem
and I dream
my cherry dream awake;
I am me looking down on myself
looking up at myself. Their
heartblinks as red cherries
as bright as stars
pin themselves
where sky
becomes space,
where the radio
tower is the caller
calling.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.24.2014 @ 9:33 am

Straight stillness
Start with just a little
sin in heart,
learn and build
and grow, forget
be better
with less,
anxiety latest
absorved personal
trait
sociopathic or
psychotic or
whatever you
call an unintentional
ongoing behavior
social mimicry
like a chameleon
that keeps the traits
it copies

I’ve been
writing everything but
what I know I should.
It’s about the caller’s calling.
It’s about brainstorming a storyboard
of a night told in reverse
from early morning
to late night

because then it would be
like a normal shift
from early morning
to late night
in forward.

It would be about the
unknown wickedness
wrapping my soul
barbed coils piercing
my values.
I breathe relief. Puncture
the anger, relieve me of it.
Is my punishment eternal?

But it’s not the same, I can’t
start in reverse.
All the subdued anger
but no subduer in the weak
of night.

The stillness of dusk.
I am alert for the entirety,
though short
and insignificant,
of night. I know
the dusk written across
scars, more scars still.

There is one redeeming
quality, that outweighs
anything.
That renders the anger in the first
half of the night
and its echo in the second
meaningless.

In stillness
they watch me watching them
and I dream
my cherry dream awake;
I am me looking down on myself
looking up at myself,
Heartblinks as red as cherries
as bright as stars
pin themselves.
where sky
becomes space,
where the radio
tower is the caller
calling
in stillness.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.24.2014 @ 9:26 am

I’ve been
writing everything but
what I know I should.
It’s about the caller’s calling.
It’s about brainstorming a storyboard
of a night told in reverse
from early morning
to late night

because then it would be
like a normal shift
from early morning
to late night
in forward.

It would be about the
unknown wickedness
wrapping my soul
barbed coils piercing
my values.
I breathe relief. Puncture
the anger, relieve me of it.
Is my punishment eternal?

But it’s not the same, I can’t
start in reverse.
All the subdued anger
but no subduer in the weak
of night.

The stillness of dusk.
I am alert for the entirety,
though short
and insignificant,
of night. I know
the dusk written across
scars, more scars still.

There is one redeeming
quality, that outweighs
anything.
That renders the anger in the first
half of the night
and its echo in the second
meaningless.

In stillness
they watch me watching them
and I dream
my cherry dream awake;
I am me looking down on myself
looking up at myself,
Heartblinks as red cherries
as bright as stars
pin themselves
where sky
becomes space,

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.24.2014 @ 8:34 am

My voice
of the daylight
rips into night’s
calm void

It penetrates
a star’s inside
splitting
exploding

Destroyer of stars
space can’t stop it
wrecking
breaking
quiet’s definition erased

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.24.2014 @ 6:59 am

Be stillstillstillstill
shake wave turn
flex grip
raise
push
rip tear cut bleed move
shake wave curse
fuck you
close your god damn
mouth. No?
Let me close it for you. Bitch.
Turn spin climb shred
Fold
build
find
open
shake wave turn
into the caller’s calling
my nerves are
violent violet
calm
still

control.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.24.2014 @ 6:39 am

dusk

dusk

Coffins play their requiem, The Caller’s Calling, and the stars close their eyes. The once dewy grass with little moons caught in the reflections of their midnight tips, now matted with worms and blood and evil. Shattered and forgotten, bottles drip once more and the dead are drunk. Children stumble past the forked cemetery fencing on the honor of a dare, but the wind notices.

The discordant lament is interrupted, and it melts into a violent cry for unadulterated blood. Incorporeal tears trickle from ear to spine, and an eternal fear dries into their souls. The children will never trespass again. A cold darkness, from the most unknowable hell, erases whiteness from the sky. And heaven closes its gate too.

and laments violently. settles a chill on their souls that means no trespassing.

But discordant wind bars their entry with a corporeal howl while

a cold darkness from the heart of hell fills the lungs of each cloud. And heaven closes its gate too.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.21.2014 @ 1:05 pm

level

Opposite the Horizon

My friend, have I missed you.
You give me more strength than I can imagine, than I can handle
You taught me timing.
You became my release when I needed self-control. You didn’t hold that against me.
I love you, I fell in love with your touch. Writing.
Writing for a girl, to a girl, about a girl. She’s come and gone.

But love and writing are eternal lovers,
like a French rose sunset that succumbs you to a breather deeper than the ocean below it.
And when you finally breathe out,
it’s knowing someone is inhaling the sun’s rise, opposite
the horizon. You realize then life is more than coincidence.

You feel good. A penstroke of the heart. A painstroke.
A girl once told me she wasn’t good at anything. I told her lying is part of telling the truth.
She told me I knew nothing.
A penstroke.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.14.2014 @ 6:57 pm

overt

before I head out,
so you have something from me to read

one
overt
convert
revert
blurt
spurt
inert
curt
hurt
shirt
squirt
perp etrator
later
hater
rate
endanger
manger
strange craters cats craft creation
a mention to the callers
balling, balling
stuck straight
running with diamons
in hands, and the ears
where they once were?
Daggers dangling

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 04.02.2014 @ 8:20 pm

support

I thank you Lord.

I thank you from my heart,
bigger than the universe in which you created it.
I release the anger in my heart caused by this job.
I thank you for a future that was not possible here,
that I could think of letting go of that anger,
much less, actually let go.

I may never forgive you
for EVER letting me believe
that nothing exists beyond my self,
but I will thank you forever for
releasing me from my punishment here.

I thank you truly, way out there beyond the stars painted along your
heavenly walls in midnight blues and purple hues that eyes can’t see.

I may always be angry, believing that you exist
but refuse to answer. But let my impassioned thanks
reach into your heart of hearts.

Like learning the right way to say Sorry,
this is my right way of saying Thank you for
making me worthy of more.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 03.28.2014 @ 12:01 pm

motivated

I thought of the scarriest sky,
in the deep of last night.

I was space’s pirate sailing heavenly seas
to see more than can be seen, wanting lost dreams more than anything

I looked back at the genetic comets whose
trails entwined in a purple hued double helix that can’t even be imagined

and on the starboard side hidden in the strawberrymilky way
I reached out just so and picked out a Stargirl among all the other cherries in that galaxy

But my voyage didn’t stop there, for where my thoughts wanted to take me
only my dreams could lead. I leapt off the bowsprit, through a black hole

In it, me and my biblical mirage became one. No more did the dark of space
separate me from myself. No more did reality separate me into imaginary parts.

I commanded an unreal journey to find my shattered soul, a symphony of dreams scattered
among the scarred heavens.

When I finally put all of me back together, written across the “Scarlett Salvation”
upon my heart was the definition “Love is the Real beyond yourself”

Now I am broken, but that brokenness is my gift and motivation.
With every blink in my day, I create a new scarred-starry world

that leaves me hungering for a feast,
that leaves me thirsting for a new water.

For every thing I thought, I found a scar in the sky above. And with
my mental knife, I will carve my likeness into this universe.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 03.28.2014 @ 11:12 am

I thought I was lying when I said I couldn’t sleep.
I thought I was lying to get sympathy,
so maybe someone could understand
why I have a chip on each shoulder.
I thought was lying to everyone else,
but lying restless, the truth weaves into
my waking dreams: I lie to myself.
I have severe sleep problems. I don’t think
I was meant for a life of peace and rest. I
am energy,
a firestorm caught
in an electric fence.
In my wake are burn victims
with charred, smoking flesh.
It tasted burnt.

There are never enough hours in a day,
my downfall is also my source of strength.
I might not be able to sleep, but
do I even have to? I walk with intensity
that leaves most unnerved, the silent
“Fuck off” written on my right sole.
Motivation for more, yearning for better
is what I can do for others.

» Posted By La Bête becomes Man On 03.28.2014 @ 10:06 am

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