odd man, out.

feeling things
you cannot, won't
just maybe, things
you do, but don't

how would i know
'cuz you won't say
maybe we'll both
live and die this way

one of us living
in the love, blood, the giving
one of us dying,
for the dream, new beginning

could be both of us just
true, the same
too easily broken
feel the gift, see the game...

for what it is,
all the bludgeon of bliss
what i wouldn't give
to live inside the taste of your kiss

as you are the last,
the ultimate infinite,
somehow i know this
stuck waiting, the wake up
you will finally get on with it..

take what's yours,
that you already know
who cares, what the limbs look,
once you finally find
that place called home

keys to magic
locked door, madness
must we waste, like murder
the minutes
on any more anything
of our pasts, torn, tragic

i don't want things
i just want you
i finally get it
finally understand
what's true

its loving, living
before it's time
so please see me, feel me
I'm the "yours" in "mine"

to leave this awful, ugly place
made so by the so called
"human race"
another body, another face
as i fight, like fire
to show you no one
can take your place

odd man, out
is this all in my head?
or am i linked to you,
wordlessly, aware all the things
that have yet to be said

change is needed, absolutely
i feel it, breathe it, resolutely
trying, searching
the name of you

an odd man, out
for once in my life
fighting to believe in myself

because i
believe in you,

this, us
powerfully real
beyond the sky, beyond the stars

it's nothing more,
beautifully

than the simple,
but not plain

divine realm, heart

truth.


bowen hart roselli
19 september 2020
ringwald love

 "when nothing has changed
in your life"...

-school of seven bells - heart is strange

when everything has changed
but nothing has changed
different location
different faces
different job
different "no job"
different friends, different spends
different "you", different truths

different dates
different dare to be hopeful
sit and waits
different, but
the same "forced" strangers
same awkward conversations
(so many people hiding so much anger)

same new ends
without any want
any chance for any kind
of anything, begin....

off the "dating" app treadmill
off the anti-social on social media spell
surgically opening my psyche,
"cracked hell",
looking back, trace the facts
for where it was i went wrong
and fell...

apart
inner crumble
took the wrong turn
as "the right one of course",
so i tumbled..

downward, inward
"warped pup, batter up"
to hit my ball, far out, left field
the fucked up shit we do to ourselves
in some bizarre attempt
to work through our wounds and heal

guess what?
the darkness, a devouring effect
and no prism of light,
is beheld, while gorgeous, to be perfect

so, the search, an infusion
of human allowance, flawed
more nuance, less illusion
chaotic chords, inner wiring, a mess
"the shit that arouses me,
when i get undressed"....

or,
a pavlovian dog
when the right voice, right vibe
his song spoke, silent knowing, sung
then my bell well oiled, conditioned
well groomed, salivate heart, rung...

"no one wants a bitch like you,
giving all your power so easily",
best friend says,
stings, confuses me with (his?) truth..

"i guess I'm a bit twisted,
so rare is the chance, I'll be loved,
but i mean well, so there's gotta be someone that gets me,
my kinda devoted, kinda bent, but wholehearted impassioned love"....

right?

no idea.
but it doesn't look good.
all the errors, mistakes
all of my perpetually
"too much" mixed with misunderstood

as i count all my failures,
fuck ups, within
the list, damn, it's long
"...yet...if...only..i..could"....

change my life...

I'm the only one
who can change my life..

from the inside out,
my mixed up wiring
that misinterprets meanings
that feels so many god damned
poetic, intense feelings...

about shit no one cares
molly ringwald's "fresh horses" poster stare
book of love's, they never made it,
fifth record
tatum o'neal's problematic past,
childhood, chequered...

and all the wounds
and scars of others,
the true friends, not friends
but really lovers

and the men, few, I've fallen
that i make, treat like gods
I'm worshipful
to that rare connect feeling
as in, it's a gift, and i know it
to me profound, so fuck me
"floored, so moved, hit the roof,
through the ceiling"...

met hundreds of guys, in my life,
fucked a third
so when i tell you, it's rare
to feel love,
i honestly give you my word

i may be broken,
but my word is not
all the liars and the loveless
the bullshit they reap,
it cannot be forgot

problem is, i confuse
feeling a sense of love,
at times, for finding it, love
but believe me,
I've paid, twice that price
and so what if my dick gets hard
over being called names
some would say are not so nice...

to each his own
on the "go it alone"
the lucky ones, they find it
with another, that sense of
being so, together, "at home"..

so yes, i am trying
take a true, transforming look inside
but the laws of a good man,
i will always strive, no matter how
damaged i am, in my head,
soul, to abide

change the bullshit i perpetuate,
my end
and to the ones i love
who read this shit

thank you, your time,
heart, precious to me,

and real affection, your reflection
of beautiful,

i send.


bowen hart roselli
10 september 2020
ringwald love

the interpretation of others
the integration of stimuli
absorbed through eyes and ears
the mind
the taste, the touch, the senses
fractured

it's all energy encapsulated
absorbed
investigated
or not

thought distillations
arousal intimations
verbal cues
the masculine voice
for me, like heroine
in heroic form,
my crawl across the earth
left no choice

power and control
given, him, the go to
for the spectrum, give in
alive, somehow, in the realm
third dimension

he seems unaware
doesn't care
or plain, simple doesn't mind
amongst his full, bright sky,
passage, pulsate of time

not on his radar
not inherent to the value
his attentive adrenaline, aligned

but it doesn't change a thing
within
what's happened, occurred
this selfless surrender,
process, begun, what's to come..

or it's opposing view, selfish
dependent upon the view,
looking out
perspective is as awareness
becomes

expanded, retracted
some seek two
others, bathed and basking only
in one

as the state to relate
what a real life means
for myself, it's an other
to rip me open, like rapture
the bleed, pure, emotion
the love, verged extinction

selfish/selfless

i live surrounded this
devouring distinction.

masculine.
his.

in a way not felt, envisioned
experienced.

his silence and avoidance.
somehow clean,
thus my continuance

but if more to the truth
still, the heaven of this
alive wished intent,

still known

and adored
it's inherent allowance

whatever the reason

i hope, more than anything, yes
more than me,
the sum total all i sense, strive
believe

he welcomes it
someway

this becoming,
beautifully bruised
blooming reality

i feel as though
i can finally breathe.

and no matter what he will,
would, could or couldn't ask
i would rise every occasion
for him, up to the danger
the task

unmasked.

i have been.

no shame, no fear
in the silent surround

this man,

the lights within are alive
gun cocked, locked, protective

realizations
upon my readied soul
skin

endangered to his
permission/forgiveness
didn't ask/sought

delicately devious
divine
bond/bled



bowen hart roselli
9 september 2020
ringwald love 

maybe you like it
maybe you don't
maybe you will
maybe you won't

maybe it's me
maybe it's you
maybe it's false
maybe it's true

maybe we live
maybe we die
maybe we tell the truth
maybe we lie

maybe we fuck
maybe we hug
maybe we sweep it all...
under the rug

cuz maybe...
it's all just a little too much
of everything and nothing
"this n that, such n such"...

useless shit, heaven (don't) help us,
all around...
instead of focusing on each other
endless feeds, information, we drown

as more and more, days, years, fly by
keep shoveling shit down
overloaded, exhausted
depleted of depth,
we no longer even try...

to pretend it matters
the pretend, all around..
maybe it doesn't
that in the shallow we drown..

just don't invite me
to a god damn "cuddle party"
there is nothing in that "touchy feely"
garbage, even worth a "maybe"
thought starting..

I'd rather take a punch, in my ass
cuz that's real..
cuddle with a stranger?
no thanks, fake affection
is worse than real aggression,
animalistic, the feel...

for maybe that has it's place
more than we realize
in a safe, constructive way
release the pent up rage
in our thighs..

release the stress, release the strain
maybe not pretending this place
"so great", eases shame

of having to "maybe" so much,
maybe now
we can get back to basics,
communicate clearly, to each other,
maybe, "wow!"..

how's that for a thought
some things, real treasures
cannot be bought

real friends, real lovers
real magic, real others..

maybe they wouldn't be so rare,
if aware
that the "here with you now"
isn't always going to be

it's a fucking gift
so maybe...

start there.


bowen hart roselli
4 september 2020
ringwald love

 

lover in a loony bin
leave me there
and come back when

i am cured of all my shit
made "stepford wife" for a new begin

perfectly posed
and propped up, for pleasure
alive to be your goldmine, treasure
not pooped out, you,
from the onslaught of me
all the overwhelm
my infinite emotions, they bring..

exhaust to your pipes,
your stars and your stripes
that wave so proudly,
like in the air, shines your flag
shot down by the drag that is me,
gushing fag

flooding,
with all my pent up emotions
elusive, are the wanted
not lap dog bitches filled, devotion

puppies are cute, but get old,
really quick
no wonder i never found
any good, strong "stick around" dick

never learned my lessons
so i walk around all bruised and used
second guessin'
every word and thought i expressed
while the lucky
are busy gettin' down, undressed

fucking and sucking
on tit, pussy, cock, ass
while all i get is over,
as in looked,
"uh, no thanks, I'll pass"..

huh?
jesus christ,
doesn't anyone want
any real love anymore?

better yet,
its coming from someone
gutter minded, well trained,
a turned out, filthy whore

i can be that, and so much,
all the more
but all i seem to get,
is the perpetual wave,
as in goodbye, out the door

so gotta change it up,
gotta pill it, pop it
whatever it takes, to finally see
enough's enough

cuz eight sure wasn't
as in ate the dust, as in angel,
he ain't bluffin'

eight is enough,
for some, sure, that's true
but eight ain't the right age
to think you learned
how to bend, to be even better
as the neighborhood, backyard
blue boy, slam him, screw

as my guardian, think angel,
looked, ran, bolted,
"outta there", in shame

lover in a loony bin
look at me, mirror,
i have someone else to be,
but no else not blame...

gotta get rid of that,
that thing, in the chest
no matter, the majority
i make, my mistake
the ever all mighty fucking priority
tame it, tamp it, down, let it go
or else i will, yes, forever
be the un-fucked, un-kissed,
unloved minority

of weirdos who think
being open, raw, ever devoted, is good
might as well carve out,
a pathway to hell
on a piece of tossed out, rotted wood

kinda like my belief system, ingrained
it ain't doing shit to get me done
while all the others,
are all out, having fun

tasting each other,
tongues, lips, locked, entwined
as i sit here, alone in the dark
a sixteen, forty-eight year old
hoping and praying,
some sweet bad boy "be mine"

it's get on out there
and play it, the game
even if, left empty inside afterward
that's just what you get,
for "the get", for "the gain"

cuz lessons they hurt,
but damn, the pleasure in the pain...

lover in a loony bin
time to leave there now and live,
a more attractive, cock worthy catch,
but underneath hiding,
a devoted, bitch for love, fool
different name, beating heart,
trapped inside, just the same....



bowen hart roselli
23 september 2020
ringwald love

addicted to escape
yeah, I'll blame it on a rape
one that lasted too damn long
i guess it takes being weak
to know you're strong...

don't get me right
cuz I'm plain, a pussy, fucking wrong
seems everything i say and do
seems, like sand, through the hand,
it falls through...

to the point
of what, again, is the point?
some roll, a hay, some roll a joint
some grab a beer,
some drown in tears
me, i guess, i just live in fear
so sick of that,
so what's next is unclear

I'd kill to be pounded and pumped,
like the town
that was the gas station,
"the towne pump", smile, from frown

things seem so glamorous
when they're not my life, me
seems everything is better,
not embodied, in the embodiment
of me, all i see...

just an addict of him
he, an addict of her
she an addict of insult
and status, self worth..

what's money gonna do
at the end of a life
absolutely nothing,
but sure causes so much pain,
so much slavery and strife...

aah!, but wisdom, it comes
as all the bullshit, it goes
cash, the eternal pain in the ass
but with comes security, less sweat
"please don't ask"...

how i know this, how i don't
what I'll put up with,
what i won't...

a little affection and abuse
the right way, deadly combination
to my safe, my locked box within
that makes me feel, sweet fuck
salivate sensations...

the ones, like lick the ground
he walks on..
as he walks on me,
twisted, gets my rocks off

cuz warped and wounded
is what i do best
so he does me that way too
and now I'm addicted, i confess

but it's not what you think
more "sweetheart", less stink
up this place with garbage,
doesn't matter
all he says, was and is
moves me
to a place beyond shattered

beyond all the stupid things
that distraction does bring
focused, him, favorite one
lessens the sorrow,
enlightens the sting

on my lips, twice bitten
and my hips, not yet ridden
by his mount of a dangerous, divine
its only, somehow,
just a matter of time...

alive now more
than i ever could believe
inside incredible fascination
of what he might feel
of my give, his receive

some things, so strange
to be too easily understood, believed
all i know is, all i know
stripped and stolen,
still, the night, his retrieve

of all the knowledge, all the facts
all now silent, waiting
addicted
and all he has to do is take

dominion.

or if a gentleman,

ask.


bowen hart roselli
18 april 2020
ringwald love