Natasha Guy is a 20-something yr old writer, poet and editor currently living in Los Angeles, California, USA. She is a mother of two who enjoys writing, crafts and baking. Truly a lover of all things creative, Natasha has multiple writing projects in the works, as well as a few multi-media surprises soon to follow.
Websites/Links:
Tumblr: http://rzrtonguedpoet.tumblr.
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~Beautiful Fixation, released Oct. 24, 2010 via Lulu.com
All That Is Within Me
Every piece that flows
Is inked from blood, sweat and tears,
Exposing something inside with each line.
The metronome of my heart beat
Is what keeps the rhythm in my head.
It is not a superfluous continuation of multiple expectations
Thrust upon me by those who choose to be cynical
Naysayers and gossip hounds sniffing ‘round for a bone.
This is not simply my life’s work on display.
It.Is.My.Life.
My thriving fortitude
Is humbly offered for
The greedy consumption
Of my salivating bedmates
As we undulate in common rivers
Trying to make sense of the obscene.
When beauty is prostrate
Within the words gathered on the page,
Those are my ever living
Dreams and visions
Stretched out, not for judgment,
But for escape from suffocation.
Copyright ©2010 Natasha Guy
Extraction of Beauty
I stand in concentration over the gleaming metal table ready to begin my quest,
But mindfully and constrained, I won’t be wasteful because there is an end…about 5-6 liters in.
Sedation was easy, catatonic states are for those waiting to become a masterpiece.
The dutiful cleansing was tedious, the end result before me though was oh so worth it.
Taking a moment to breathe in the simplicities of life, eyes closed and hands poised.
I begin to stare at the rise and fall of the chest cavity, a rhythmic beauty in its own right.
But I am in search of the inner beauty, that which shines through the very pupils of a being.
This body washed and purified in its naked glory is just the beginning.
Hair strong and vibrant, muscles taut and defined, bone structure riveting, I could gaze forever,
But that would be a tragedy in and of itself, to end my mission before I’ve even begun.
A bird in the hand cannot be accepted this time, completion and perfection are my demands.
I will dig until I find it, until I hold it in my hand, tangible True Beauty, you will be my gain.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I tell myself as I diligently lift each orb from its suctioned place.
I hold them, dissect them; marvelously engineered, but not as stunning as my treasure will be.
The mind is a terrible thing to waste, so maybe beauty hides in the folds of that fleshy organ.
I peel back the fascia, pop apart the hemispheres, I am intrigued by the findings, but not mesmerized.
The tongue can be one of beauty or give death; it is of no interest in this journey.
The vocal chords can purr songs that give life to ideals such as love and faith,
But it lays lifeless without the vibrations of air flowing through it, what a disappointment.
Maybe the lungs pink and moving will give me more of a rise, although I doubt that I’ll find it.
Perhaps I will find it in the lower part of the body, where waste is banished and cleansed for use.
I am tingling and vibrating with excitement as my new revelation leads my nimble fingers.
I cannot slow down, yet I must not overlook anything either, only 5-6 liters of time draining away.
It takes patience not to destroy while trying to find the beauty inside but being snared by entrails.
Exhausted with my restrained pace I hack through muscle that holds it all together, a nice neat package.
I attack the bone as if its hardness is preventing my very existence, maybe it lives in the marrow.
Where is the beauty within and why do I feel like it’s oozing out even though I see nothing but platelets.
“Can it really reside in the most obvious place,” I ponder as I zoom in on the faintly beating heart.
I carefully slice into the chambers with controlled enthusiasm, my own breath labored and audible.
My eyes burn with excitement as I concentrate on the heart of this open matter.
I am now holding in my hand, a lifeless organ that has ceased to pump life and beauty.
Where is the inner beauty that I have sacrificed to find, destroyed a piece of art in search of more…
Violently I release my anger of its avoidance on what is left of my pet, my poor mangled pet.
Choking the elusive last breath from an already lifeless body in frustration at my complications,
The truest beauty seeping out from between my fingers encircling and squeezing the filleted neck,
It all escapes me as I collapse in 5-6 liters of wasted time and substance, wallowing in filth.
Another failed mission, the search continues…
WISH: When I See “Him”
.
I want you.
Every inch of you.
From the top of your head
Down to the depths your soul.
Yes, I want your heart.
I want your thoughts.
I want your hips
So I can wrap my legs around
And…wait, not yet.
I want your trust.
I want your hopes.
I want to be your future.
I want it all.
I’m asking for a lot, I know.
But, I’ve never meant this
More, than when I say it to you.
I’m willing to give you
All of that.
I will offer you everything that I want.
I can’t lose you to fear,
Not my own anyway.
If I’m willing to walk through fire,
Certainly I can jump the hurdle of fear.
I hope it’s not too late for us to achieve…
That my instability hasn’t caused irreparable damage.
It would be suicide to a little part of me,
Never able to revive, if I let you be
Linked to someone other than me
In the way that I can only see
You and I.
You may, at one time, wonder what I see
In you, when I look at you that way.
I see the most amazing man…ever.
Your determination rivals that of the gods.
You are the stuff of which legends are made.
In silence, you are a pillar of strength;
The strong silent type with a smirk.
It lets me know that your silence isn’t idle.
Even your saunter has an obvious purpose.
The drive I’ve seen in your eyes tells me that
Success is not an option in your future.
And trust, that’s not all I see.
I see the hand that caresses my body
Into multiple levels of happiness.
I see kissable lips that encase a smile
That awakens the sun daily,
Sending it in my direction.
I see the arms that welcome me.
They say goodbye and support me too.
They hold me still when it’s for my own good.
I see eyes that I hope our child has,
Full of care, purpose and fire.
I see a man, Lord help me, who raises my temp.
If…no, make that WHEN, we get to our destination,
The city may never see snow again,
The way you ignite all that’s within me.
I could go on forever painting a picture with words
But I’m being slightly selfish this time.
I don’t want to share with others all that is mine.
Well, all that I want to be mine,
All that I see, when I’m in bed next to you
And I open my eyes to the rising sun.
Copyright © 2010 Natasha Guy
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