I Was Tired

One night, I was walking
hopeless 

I remember this moment

when I was tired

and I was loved

I was tired
And I was loved

I thought I was empty
I thought I was done

And still

I had love
to give

And still

I am FILLED with love to give

I am filled with love to give
I am filled with love to give
I am filled with love to give
I am
filled
with love
to give

Britta B.

BrittaTube: Andy Juma’s Alone in the Woods.

For pictures from the shoot and more eye candies, check out Andy’s blog: http://andyjuma.blogspot.ca/

She who reads by candlelight.

She who has yet to learn to love landscapes, not men
Loses herself in thought, constant thought, thinking and feeling
Her imagination is cruel
She’s obsessed, addicted to
Nature, and her attempts to nurture it
(she’ll die from natural causes anyway)
She is a mountain lion on a public beach
She is but a loose thread from a ripped sleeve
Wrapped around a thrusting heart
A heart that pumps and bumps into many things
All she wants
Is to be still

Growing old in her mid-twenties from looking
At love through the eyes of the past
Compulsive thinker she is,
Her mind uses her
All she wants
Is to be still

With candles lit, hot tea sips
She begins now to
Break free, open
Puts her mind between her hands and into a good book
She watches where her mind goes, loses it
Enlightened, she
Realizes she is not the thinker she thinks she is and instead
Watches her self think
Observes her self feel
She disconnects from mind and body
She is a soul again
Resting alive in peace

“You are one with all that is”
Here
Now
Please, be still.

Britta B.

hazy mornings

one hazy morning
i awoke
to a glass of mystery and a splash of some fresh sun 
a brown-skinned mister
a warm brown-skinned mister wearing nothing but his sleeves
lay next to me, quietly, watching me dream

he declared a nightmare he battled and won as i
dragged my palm across scars bruises burns
touching him on purpose
where i’m sure it once hurt 
but then the fool kissed my hand
as if to take all that pain back, I
couldn’t wipe the smirk
off my face
he had me wrapped
in his warm
didn’t want a blanket to do his job
this hazy morn’ i was
beside myself with him

perhaps, there was no return to reality

Britta B.

Garden Hose.

A white truck, delivering expensive gardens, swings
around the corner of the house where
two twenty-something year old females glowing
from foreign backgrounds, kneel over
spoiled soil.
They pull over-grown weeds from dry
dust-ridden
dirt
The sound
feels like a good scrub
One of the glowing ethnic empresses
pricks her thumb on something sharp
and goes inside to wash it off
as I watch it all, sitting
in the soon-to-be
garden of
Eden.

Britta B.

sitting on these slanted rocks

sitting on these slanted rocks
thinking ’bout these slanted thoughts
contemplating on jumping
into this lake or
falling back in love.

Britta B.

BrittaTube: Canfree presents The Story of Spoke N’ Heard

…a little bit about an event Britta B. performed on June 30th, 2012 at Ngoma Lounge in Toronto, Canada.

pulling my hair.

i’ve created delight. pulling my hair.
pretending it’s you.

i can pinch and know it’s me pinching
i can scratch and know it’s me scratching
i can bite and know it’s my mouth
i can lick and kiss and rub and frisk my whole body
and not be able to trick myself

but pulling my hair. i’m convinced it could be you.

i twirl. and twist.
a handful of waves // damp
bottom hair
never sees the sun // i pull.
as hard as i want to.

as hard as you would
if i told you to. (hey, a little harder next time)

i’ve created delight.
pretending it’s you, pulling my hair.

Britta B.

I am living the dream.

But I can’t confess how lonely it gets
to sit in a room full of all your favourite things
…

To stare

the whole night through
at the ground (or the bottom of something)
Thinking
of a brother who never calls
and a friend who always answers

I am the only one here.
I am the only one here.

And to stay here (everywhere I go)

alone, attached

to some detachment that bribes me into
laughing at the world every time I fall; God forbid
I show any signs of weakness

Britta B.

moment I

my mind
face planted against a glass ceiling 
the moment he walked in and stole the room’s attention.

him, yeah him, that one

he barked with a grin about how good of a day he was having
as i made an unannounced agreement with my pride to not say anything
to seduce him

yeah him, that one

shortly after,
we locked eyes

and i was high
looking down
at the remains of my heart

i had to remind myself to blink

it was like i was watching myself in a car crash
replaying it in my mind (actually seeing me step out into the street)
but from the angle of a hospital bed
hooked up to a moniter with a wristed IV

and
feel
-ing

how smoothly the morphine spread throughout my skin…

feeling how good it feels to be weak
every. single. time. he began to speak.
he licked my spine
with his limerick pick up lines
and i felt parts of my soul splatter and leak

down
the walls of my mind, i was dripping
down
the walls of
my mind, i was dripping
down
the walls
of my mind, i was
dripping

down

off of his chin
and into his lap

***

he leaned in my direction across the table
and confessed,
what are you doin’ later? i need company
he was honest.

him. yeah him. that one.

why can’t we all be more honest?

like him. yeah him. that one.

i’ve never felt more vulnerable
as I did watching another man
undress

himself for me.

Britta B.