You Were- Memoir Excerpt/ S. of C.

You were an onus I couldn't kick fast enough. 
Be gone Devil. 
My invaded body marched my limbs and my dulled wits back to this albatross. 
With only a boy dressed in shitty men's clothing. 
You fucked her while I lay on life support.
My mind deep and scattered throughout purgatory and my body at Bellevue Hospital. 
I will have you the way you are intended to be. You will suffer deeply little boy. 

Long may you suffer. 

Who was the killer? 

Three Times Three
To what you did to me.
So shall it be. 
Same as it ever was.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen

We Leopards - Memento as Prose

Journal entry from August 15th 2015

Journal entry from August 15th 2015

We leopards, we cheetahs of the concrete jungle's hidden crevices.

We of the street.

We in the shadows. 

We run wild and we run fast.  

Just as we live. 

  

Your resistance to acknowledge our existence is a testament to our vilification. 

All we need is sustenance. 

What is so frightening about that?

Sometimes we don't know why and some of us ceased to care. 

We simply seek it out to shut it out.

To silence our minds, a shroud to obstruct the brutality of our hunt. 

To obtain and maintain our vacuous life, we simultaneously annihilate whatever stands in the way. 

We lunge and dash without a clue as to which direction we ought to be heading. 

Running faster now, briefly to vacate or reconsider;

 only to return to the chase. 

Desperate in our attempts to figure out what drives our vessel, but far more inclined to  satiate the need. 

 However  intimidating we may be, you must know that we were once delicate creatures. 

At one time merely cubs, before our beings went asunder.   

Something along the way went wrong, perhaps terribly. 

Now the teeth that would have playfully nibbled at the hand that fed, will rip it from your limb. 

Only pondering for an instant 

"Why in the fuck did just I do that?" 

Then, on to the next one. 

You are one misstep from being among us. 

One neuron. One bad decision. 

One last eviction notice. 

One boss that doesn't like the look of you. 

We know that you see us in your peripherals. That is why you avert your eyes. 

Reflections that you are unable to admit exist. 

Keep this in mind the next time you walk by and pretend you didn't hear us, see us, smell us.

Tell me,

 What is the light without the  shadow? 

All our cunning, velocity, intellect and vigilance, you never thought that we  possess. 

We have insidious demands, what don't you understand?.

Our will to survive and adapt to whatever comes our way. 

To stand up even when knocked down and stomped upon. 

We will rise, even from the dead. 

I know I have and have seen my brethren do so as well. 

We survive with valor, some will lose the fight but never the hunt. 

One thing is certain, we will be moving on. 

Even death will not stop our ethereal tenacity.

This is New York City, it may not be 1982 but we do what we have to, 

what we need to. 

We  go for the kill.

 Bally-mother fucking-hoo. 

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen 

A Once Private Entry- Journal entry/ Memoir excerpt

"I have made a girl climax and convulse with one hand against a chain link fence a couple years ago in Alphabet City. I want to do it again- better this time. 

I have kissed gently and passionately many young women with no agenda other then a shared pleasure between us which it always was. 

Once, not that long ago I even left Maverick outside so that I could go inside Mars Bar and drink the drinks this foxy brunette had offered me, but only if he stayed outside. Laughter and flirtation quickly became a mutual fascination with one another's lips and hips. We kissed and touched for a couple of hours and I enjoyed my drink of choice (Gin and Tonic with a twist of lime) while Maverick sulked outside. I knew this may be hurting him, but I was enjoying myself too much to let the passing consideration interrupt me and drunken fox's fun.

I have received oral sex from a few women but only given it once.

The one time I went down on a girl it was was delicate, tender touch that was kind and careful and made her body relax completely. She became a golden tan beautifully sculpted anthropomorphic creation that my hands had shaped. 

We were cell mates in a juvenile detention center only 15. 

I remember her green eyes that would not meet mine when the day was new. As if the intimacy had not occurred. Her wavy shoulder length hair that would sway in little wisps with every movement of her head. The head that held that sweet thin and perfectly shaped face.

I remember that I had awoken the morning after feeling as if a unicorn had visited me in the night. Apparently she was not comfortable or understanding of what had happened between us, and was not comfortable making it public knowledge. She was nervous and didn't speak to me much after that. Girls that age were cruel about things like that especially in Juvenile Hall. "Yo, that bitch a dike!" or a "Yo, she nasty. She eat pussy!" things like this. When we were alone in the night behind a bolted door she seemed quite pleased,She was totally at ease while my lips and hands explored all over her supple young body.

Once when a man wanted to fuck me that I wasn't attracted to, but I really liked his wife. I said I'd do it if I could kiss and touch her while we did it. I just focused on her and I could handle him.

I am not sure when my sexuality became an undeniable blurred line. 

Of course I was a child that explored all over other female and male children.

Normal enough right? 

My curiosity and excitability towards female bodies did not end when the other girls had hit puberty.

I stuffed this part of my self deep down and did what I was supposed to, liked who I was expected to like, males.

And fucked them. 

I believe in a masculine, feminine perfect alliance within ones personality.

I hate labels.

I am a woman.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen

Conflict During Sex- Memoir Excerpt

- Originally Hand Written on August 13th 2015 -

Marie keeps looking up at him in disgust that she halfheartedly tries to disguise as pleasure (it seems to make no difference to him). Maverick continues pushing himself hash and unkind inside of her. Marie feels no pleasure in this, nothing of the sort. 

She had wanted to believe him when he said he was sorry. 

She knew that he wasn't, she learned long ago that remorse and empathy were foreign concepts to him. She told herself she would get over it; That she would forgive him, that she was 'strong'. She knew she wouldn't and that she shouldn't, not this time, not ever. 

She even made a thorough effort she did her part as best she could. 

She was even playing the part for Christ sake laid down on her back for him! 

She even tried to find a way to look at the relationship from his point of view. 

His infidelity, his lies, his abuse, his abandonment, his disloyalty and his betrayal, perhaps there was a psychological explanation for these behaviors, and she racked her brain.
The pounding pain increasing with each of his greedy thrusts. 

The dryness of her cunt became suddenly keenly alive and acutely aware. 

These sensations seemed to screamed at her what she already knew, but now it was unbearable.
She had not forgiven him at all! 

The thought so loud she though her skull would crack open. 'No way, I cant, no fucking way...'

"Get the fuck off of me she" says wearily with contrived pity. 

He stops moving, he is still on top of her and he looks bewildered. 

"What?" he asks like he doesn't fucking get it... How can he not know? 

She feels fury beginning to take the wheel. 

So she repeats herself for him like the inept and faithless idiot he clearly is. 

"Get. The. Fuck. Off. Of. Me." She spells out each word more concisely and more hateful then the word prior. 

"What the fuck is your problem?"

 He mutters meekly into his half erect cock, yet he is speaking to Marie.
She presses her vibrator even harder directly on the most sensitive area of her clitoris and pushes down until it hurts and tears begin to form in her eyes. Trying in vain to suppress her rage with a pleasure that is nowhere to be found, not as long as he is near. Not anymore. It is all for naught.' she says to her self as she twists her toy back to the off position and hurls it with one furious swing of the arm towards the wall with all her might. It splits in two. She knows it isn't broken.

"Fucking useless piece of shit!" 

She doesn't even know if the outburst was directed at the vibrator or at him.
She lifts her naked ass off of the sleeping bag and puts her pussy away, far away from him. Panties back where they belong and where they should have stayed. 

"Hey! Maverick, Look at me!" (to get his cowardice eyes to meet hers)

 "My vibrator may not be broken, but this? Me and you? 

(eye brows raised, nose crinkled as if she picked up on the distinct odor of cat piss, she points back and forth from her own chest to his) 

Us? This is fucking irreparable man."

He just sits there, almost blank. 

Staring at the concrete, eyes darting to and fro. 'Pathetic' her mind decides in passing thought. 

There is not a trace of remorse upon that face she has come to loath. 

No understanding, no shame nor is there anything that remotely resembles empathy. 

Not anywhere from what she can sense .Not even confusion. He says nothing at all for a minute. It appears that he is only trying to figure out his next move (as per usual). He may well be. It really doesn't matter to her anymore. What he doesn't know, is that this will be the last night she gives her body to him ever again. More importantly he doesn't know that she too has thought about her next move. She is already several yards ahead of him and in a totally different direction. Marie finds enormous comfort in this.
"Can I have a cigarette Marie?" He asks as if he is entitled.
'What a joke he is'. "NO...Goodnight Maverick."
Marie pulls her jeans her jeans back up. Takes out a nearly full pack of Camel's and lights one up, it tastes and feels peculiarly lovely at that moment. She begins to rummage around for her bag in the half lit entrance way of the Indian restaurant they slept in front of on Sixth Street.

 She finds it and grins at the still glistening cover bearing Neil Gaiman's name. 

A graphic novel tonight "The Graveyard Book". 'How Apropos.' 

She thinks sarcastically as she opens it up to the page she has bookmarked. 

Marie took another satisfactory drag of her cigarette, and disappeared into a world that she could live in alone and yet not alone.
Not to have to feel the disparate sufferings only humans could possibly inflict.
Not for now and not for tonight.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen

The Want- Thoughs on an ideal

The want. The connection. The coming together.

Of physical contact, whether it be touch or communication. 
It is proven that communication is a solid foundation for any form of relationship. 
Affection is a very close second. 
I am finally accepting the knowledge that this desire of mine is not mere selfish desire at all. 
There is also significant amount of evidence that the lack of touch may cause;
Depression, insomnia, violent tendencies, memory deficits, high blood pressure, etc...
So, I suppose the infamous pun, "You really need to get laid" may indeed be a merited fact.

It is also proven that touch, physical contact decreases pain. 

Lowers stress levels and even improves immune function, etc.. 
So now that's established and understood, 
I must say that I love my solitude. 
Isolation and solitude are different states of being and we chose them for very different reasons. 
One is healthy one is clearly not. 
As much as I enjoy my solitude I still want contact with another.

I love the body mannerisms, the facial expressions and the eye contact.
The kind that lingers and the kind that nervously strays. 
Those things communicate so much more then the spoken word. 

Many of us in this day and age do not allow ourselves enough of that. 
With E-mails, text messaging, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram at our fingertips.
We may think...
 "Why bother with the effort and the risk?"
But then we would never know if that "LOL" received was a slight smirk, a smile that spreads and reaches the eyes, or if they are in fact laughing out loud.

I want my desire, my god given right to be expressed selflessly and caressed in mutuality. 

In so many ways, with so few words...

For fingertips that graze yielding limbs.

A strong hand against my skull. 

My skull upon a warm chest.

Listing to the "ba, boom ba, boom" of their heartbeat.

Feeling the thudding against the lobe of my ear.

Determined hands kneading up and down the muscles that surround my spine.

A kiss that is warm and inviting.
A kiss that feels like a homecoming.

A kiss that whispers "I see you..."

All that aside, I think the 'who' is of more importance.
 This is what I have come up with upon approximately 15 years of trial and error and much contemplation and this list is ongoing.

First and foremost, 
I need to know that they float near my plane of existence and enjoy the view.

Philosophically, intellectually, emotionally and spiritually.

I want someone...

Who has deep rooted loyalty.

Who has old school honor in their chemical make up.

Who is as strong in their beliefs as I am.

Who strives towards becoming their ideals personified just as I do.

 Who is unafraid to speak up for what they know is just.

Who knows the twist and turns of the labyrinth of purgatory 
as well as I do.

Who has found their way out as well and keeps a great distance from that darkness. 
 Someone with that memory, who now knows humility and has reverence for those shadows.

Who doesn't cower in the face of feminine power.

 Who cherishes and adores this power.

 Who is muse to poet and poet to muse.

 Who is the ebb and the flow.

 Who is comfortable expressing all forms of sexualuality.

 Who has their own interests and hobbies and pursues them.

 Who knows that I have my own and respects my solitude.

 Who can make me laugh without even trying.

 Who questions as much as I do and loves that about me.

Who participates in life and love with vigor.

 Who still looks ahead when weary from the ongoing battle a great many must fight.

I want someone who knows, who believes, that absolutely everything is in it's perfect time and place. 
For reasons even the greatest of minds can only deliberate indefinitely.

Mary Catherine,  Cowardice Queen

Peak

'Have you ever seen a cherry blossom come to it's peak?

If the weather is fair and conditions pleasant, the perceptively brief moment of it's becoming is forgiven and forgotten immediately upon the peaks glorious arrival.

Mozart whispers melodies in my ear that whisper that tell me it is near.

Do you know the ancient meaning of the word "Virtue"?

Ask Socrates or Aristotle .

If so then you no there is no sarcasm in me stating that I am a woman of virtue.

When do words lose their power?

Why do we alter their history?

The 'when' is what happens where the 'why' begins.

Two words that have been inscribed like vines underneath my skin that grew as my physical body did but in depth and intricacy.

Archaic veins I have worn heavily like armor.

Do you know the Historical meaning of "Cunt" ?

Ask Germaine Greer.

I am a Virtuous Cunt.

Follow the trail that has been left behind;

Partially slaughtered and intended to be forgotten.

Tis' true, It is there, I have walked it.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen

Prose from a Late Night

First draft hand written August 9th, 2015


Thing one says: "Obligation to another".
Thing two says :
 "I have far too many ex lovers, she's with him anyway".

Well shit man... 
It's always a inbreed fuck fest out here on the streets.

The timing was just wrong, I guess.

He felt right from the moment I saw him

Rather I knew he would feel right.

Pussy cat purrs then curls up and stifles the desire..

Dear Gods, If only. 

See it was like this;

If only circumstances were different. 

If only his ex wasn't a lunatic beast and the other a literary companion of hers.

If I was not invaded by the parasite at the time.

If only he was not either suffering the same blight.

If only I wasn't being bleed dry by another.

If only I lacked the remnants of the morals that still remained.

If only he had given me a sign, a flirtatious grin when no one was looking.

If only I knew it was a mutual desire.

If only I would have left the fool the first time I noticed I yearned for another being

If only I could have said what I was thinking, they are one and the same.

If only I made a casual and simple invitation.

If only "What are you up to tomorrow, after you fly and shit?"

If only he said "Nothing really. Why, you wanna chill?"

If only I just said "Yeah, I do.".

If only those plans were made and followed through with.

If only I had us alone together, at long last.

If only I let my eye contact linger and waited for his body language to respond.

If only I witnessed the conflict of verbal and non verbal communication .

If only I reached for his hands, held them as firm as I held his eyes.

If only enough to know for certain what he wanted.

If only because he did not pull away but rather pulled me towards him.

If only I felt his body against my own.

If only I felt his warmth and protection that most men assume I don't even desire.

If only my secret thoughts and desires came to fruition.

If only in that moment we came to realize our bodies fit like yin to the yang.

If only we felt as if we had finally found that puzzle piece we'd been searching for.

If only it was the one piece that was gone so long we'd forgotten the the image.

If only we could see it in all its beauty, all in one flash of an instant.

If only our lips reached for each other and made the long awaited introduction.

If only it was fucking perfect.

If only that had happened way back when, when thing one first met thing two.

See, now it's like this;

Thing one and two saw each other in haphazard passing tonight.

Thing one is no longer invaded by parasitic beings nor is thing two.

I am no longer with the fool that hovered over me like a hailstorm of suffering.

His bestial lunatic ex girlfriend is thousands of miles away.

As I sat next to him (a little to close to be just friendly) I was not thinking "if only".

It was something new and cleansing like fresh spring water; 

as many things tend to feel these days.

I was not 'If only..."

It was "When?

When will I tell him?

When will I touch his skin and see what is underneath his hand stitched clothing?

When will I embrace him and be embraced with an equal amount of passion?

When will our lips meet?

Even if nothing ever comes to be

I love that the if only's are now replaced with the whens

When the when is right, moral and just.

My personal definition of these concepts anyway.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen