The steel has won

Fucking addictions

This land by the Sea, it has such a people! This day, I witnesses epic battle of mettle and might! Still have not found the 6 fingered man, but have discovered a pennant.

I strive on for revenge… and hot dogs.

Civil disruption
A land divided will fall
Ugh election time

#poetry

When young , I had no armor
I wore no steel I held no blade
Looked upon the world with clarity of youth
The wonder and dangers untold
First name called, first bully met
I learned
Oh I learned the harsh world
The world of turn the other cheek
The world of “you could hurt them”
And fuck. At times I wanted to hurt them..
I wanted them to know to feel what I felt
To manifest their words back to them in fists
To teach them the error of their ways
To show them my mettle
To show them… my pain.

Not allowed not ok and now I know .. my words are sharper than any edge
Landing harder than any punch

My words , held In check.. for so long
I learned speaking earned pain
I learned that the belt spoke for him
I learned the strike silenced opposition
…. until he learned, I grew.
Silent lesson, taught only once.
Never needed more

My words, now freely fired
Defeating silence, muting ignorance.
My words fight.

#poetry
#writtenword

Playing with some words.

A Perl of wisdom
User to user
We each chown our path
Each decide our usergrp
echos from shadows
Seeking access, hashing connections
Pipe var log, memory cached
Cat Uptime , till system crash

#poetry #writtenword

A wee story for the day

“Damn, it is warm in here with that oven blasting!” my delightful Sous Chef remarked. I’ve gotten used to the heat in my years making pies, so much so that I often bake in the buff… well except when there is caramel involved. (Don’t ask..)

Spinning around from the wooden prep table, I gazed into his eyes.. while slowly pulling my tank top off. Enjoying every moment of mischief reflecting in his face. “ Of course it’s hot in here, and it’s only going to get warmer. Pies take effort, but it’s the effort that makes them so wonderfully special. Just imagine that first tantalizing moment when your tongue gets to taste what it ever so desired.” My desires raising as I felt his eyes taking in the view. I’ve put a lot of effort into my physical well being, and I adored the twinkle it inspired in his eyes.

“That is a brilliant idea Chef, don’t mind if I do”. I swear I blinked and his tshirt was 8 feet away on the kitchen stool. My sous chef definitely raises my bread, and always inspires me to a second rise.

Luckily I’d made the dough last night and left it in the fridge to settle, if I hadn’t, not sure this pie would ever been baked. “Grab the blueberries and start on the filling while I roll this ball nice and flat”. Splitting the dough in two, I stopped to admire his frame while he bent over in the ice box, rummaging around for the fresh berries we picked yesterday on the way home.

“Don’t forget the cinnamon and butter this time, unless you really starchy blue ball syrup again!” I emphasised with a joking waggle of the thick, wooden rolling pin.

“Geez, one time I dump an entire batch on your shirt and I never live it down..” My sous chef shared in dulcet tone. “Besides, you had no complaints over my job of cleaning it up.”

Is the kitchen getting warmer, or is it just my cheeks.. One glance at his face told me it wasn’t the ambient temperature rising. Turning to the job at hand, I joyfully sprinkled the dark wooden surface and pin with a healthy dose of flour. Feeling all those hours spent in the gym paying off, I set to the task of making the bottom crust. My mind wandered as my muscle memory took over, the texture of the dough making my very toes tingle. A tickle at the of my neck made me jump.. as hands slipped around my waist to hug me from behind. Fingers slowly tracing my navel.. My forearms.. My biceps. The slight scratch of well groomed scruff at the nap of my neck told me all I needed to know…. The blueberry filling was not getting made.

#shortstory #gay #lgbtqia #baking