Saturday, September 29, 2007

Sweet Awaking

I wear, flowing wrinkle skirt
Tinge of five petals scattered throughout
Speckled natural fuzz,
The spaghetti straps dangle
As the corner of my eyes catch
Colors of pink and yellow swaying with my dusty hair
As my chin slowly rises,
In awe, drops of peace, of hope make their way down my cheek

That glowing sphere, warming my soul
I run in circles, spin and spin
My arms flung open, giggling with the wind
I grind my toes into the firm texture
Breath in, hug the tangy spray
I take a step in
Ankles, legs, knees
White hem floating about my beautiful curved thighs
Palms of my hands skim the gentle bubbling tides

There is truth in this, when one is willing to totally break
To truly be free
Steady on my back, I just laugh and laugh
Crystal and pristine, I need no reflection
When my heart is the rhythm keeping the ocean waves rolling
Taking Earth’s lead, I am no more then this, me
Recycled minerals and dirt and I love every inch of it

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Cinderella Wears Black

You’ll never see a bride wearing black
Nor carrying black roses
Or wishing for crows atop their big fluffy gray cake
This would be as awkward as a white canvas with no hint of paint
I’d laugh at the fool trying to describe it as a masterpiece
But that is the fantasy one sees on “their” most spectacular day
Ribbons and perfume strung through the atmosphere
And the words from a groom promising to cling to his wife
Heard by everyone in the room
But no one sees her feet as they make indentions on the vinyl kitchen floor
Yes, the wife,
She who has rights in the world, watching her spouse wind his way out the front door
Wiping the fingerprints behind him, waiting for something more
Her fingers swell, and leave a black ring of betrayel
Watching him break all the vows of honor and grace
What a sight to see when she walks in on he who masturbates
To the sound of his ego he vigorously beats
Clung instead to a skinny, six inch pillar of waste


The Theory of the Hymen

It was in June when she erupted from her cocoon
Spreading those moth like wings over his nibble legs
This was the first time
or so it was thought
Out of the hundreds of DNA between that green slit
There his slimy one sat
Rotting my finger off
Stealing my grandmother’s ring
Thrown at me during his violent proposal
I should have known when he put his hands around my throat
As I objected,
“This crosses the line”
I begged, but he just squeezed
“We’re just friends you jealous slug”
“Stay hidden behind our painted door”
But he always came back
With a smell I’ll never forget
Of turpentine and mud