With her pretty little hair
And her pretty little sweater
And her pretty little skin so fair
The whole spectrum of beauty
Could fit in the pretty little gap
Between her pretty little thighs
And her pretty little fingers
Carrying pretty little shoes
With heels like daggers that hinder
The heart undone
As she staggered drunkenly
Down his icy driveway
With her pretty little bare feet.
Brushing away pretty little blonde locks
As she sat in her pretty little car seat
And her pretty little hands
Attached to pretty little
needle
tracked
arms
Shook violently
As she rubbed her pretty little cocaine smeared nose
Now muddy with pretty little tears
And her eyes
Her great big, thickly lined eyes
Did foreshadow her demise
As she shoved her pretty little keys
Into the car’s ignition

Society told me
That I was perfect.
So I guess
If your breasts
Are larger than your brain
Somebody might call you pretty.

Society told me
That I was flawless.
So perhaps if you lose
Every one of your shoes
The beauty in your demi-pointe
Will show.

But my dresses were shorter than yours
Thighs smoother
Because,
Plastic doesn’t stretch and strain.
Blonde hair like gold
And just as precious,
Compared to your dull brown.
My fingers long and yours so stubby.
You had wide hips.
And mine so narrow they fit in that tiny gown.

You brushed my hair.
My chamber maid,
Clothed me,
Changed me,
And on beds laid
Me to sleep,
Singing with one of your
Tone deaf melodies.

You fashioned me
Meticulously
So my purse and my shoes
AWAYS matched.
Taught me to drive,
And to use a knife…

But in your rage of adolescence
Underneath those flickering florescent
Lights, that died your skin pale green,
You screeching like some
Deranged Jacobin
Cut off my head.
Yet you still strived
To emulate my essence.
And when your reign of terror ended
I left dismembered
Upon your cluttered floor,
You turned to other things
To slice,
To cut,
And I watched with
Dull,
Unintelligent
Eyes
As blood stained my blonde hair red.

But things got better
You too got pretty.
Went blonde
And purged the your excess
Caloric intake
Painting with rosy pigments
Upon your tired flesh.
And I confess,
I won.

Lassalle
He said something
About wages
And an iron wheel
Rising and falling
Rising and falling
Rising and falling
Like a sinusoid
God I hate sinusoids
They never end
Seemingly tranquil
But they never end
It has something to do with pi
And a radius but I wouldn’t know
Because I was too busy
Thinking
Than pay attention in math
I drew shark fins on that oscillating line
Just to make it interesting
Less predictable
Because life isn’t predictable
But shall we plot my life?
Give me a function?
Make me predictable?
Take away my thoughts
Pay attention in math
Dress in name brands and look
Like everyone else
Graduate
Go to college
And major in communication
Ironically
Oh so ironically
Enter a failing marriage
That like that God forsaken sinusoid
Seems to never end
And the wheel will keep turning
Rising and falling
Rising and falling
Rising and falling
I’ll have kids
Name them something
Like Jane and John
Mindlessly mainstream
Names that are given to the unnamed
Still Rising and falling
Rising and falling
Rising and falling
And I will tell the kids
That daddy took the dog to the farm
Because the truth is hard
And the truth will make them think
And death
And loveless marriages
Are too harsh of subjects for the minds of children
And more rising and falling
Rising and falling
Rising and falling
Rising and fallin
So that I might die alone
In an empty suburban house
With a lovey obituary
But coming back to Lassalle,
He said something about wages
And an iron wheel

Irises remind me
Of the French Bourgeoisie.
Ladies,
Promenading about narrow Parisian avenues
Just before the Franco-Prussian war.
They hide,
Perhaps playing coy,
Behind parasols of petals
And tresses of lacey crinoline.
Their bustles defy gravity
Inviting insects for tea.
Yet ,
They sense a disturbance in the Rhineland.
So they stand
With eerie stillness
Atop leafy green heels
Peering out from behind the veil
That falls so gracefully
From a judiciously placed bonnet.
They murmer among one another
Using short expressions
Spoken in their native language
Which I do not understand
For I speak the dialect of the enemy.
They foolishly tilt their faces upward
Letting the sun kiss them.
Opening their arms
As if to embrace it.
It is as if they do not know
That Napoleon will fall
As all napoleons do
To the hand of the Prussian Keiser.
It is as if they do not know
That Paris will suffer,
And that they will wilt.
Their lavish purples and golds
Fading to the browns of peasantry.
So we giggle,
We laugh at their naivety.
And we pluck them,
Embalming them on the tombstone
Of a fallen soldier.
For now we will let them cry,
Let them gather the morning dew
Upon pollen powdered faces,
Lamenting the fall of their fatherland.

I used to wonder
If the world
In all its cruel inequities
Had a place for me
Until
I decided
To take my own life
I traced the veins that ran up my arms
Before
I pressed the cold metallic blade against my wrist
I hate the cold
I fell to the floor
Fading
In a pool
Of purple tinted blood
A man with skeletal hands picked me up
And drew me close
His bones were so very cold
I hate the cold
“You should not have done this.” He reprimanded
“You were so very beautiful.” He whispered
“I’m sorry.” I said
He pulled me closer
He was so cold
I hate the cold
“Do not speak.” He demanded
And so I was silent
“Such a shame…” he mused
“I loved you so,”
I raised my hand to touch his face
“Do not move.” He commanded
And so I was paralyzed
“I could never have you,” he ruminated
“Not until these fleeting moments.”
I sighed
“Do not breath.” He ordered
And so there I died
Drowning in a pool
Of purple tinted blood
In the arms of a man
The only man
Who ever loved me
Bruised by the cold bones
Of death himself
I hate him as he loved me

Dance as if you will never dance again.
I live by these words
To dance is to release the day’s troubles
That pre-calc test I failed only last period seems so very far away
As I dance,
Turn,
Jump,
And step in time
Rodejoum, tourjete, shune
Stick the landing
Who cares if you fail?
There are no mistakes in art
If you fall on your face,
To Hell with it!
Who cares?!
This is art
I run,
Walk,
And skip
Who cares?!
Dance the daily plights away
For all I know I could be dead tomorrow
So I release
For perfection seems a pointless goal
At least for now
I lose myself in the music
No longer two entities but one
This is God
It’s almost religious
Breathing hard now
Counting to 8
I don’t remember what comes after that
Was it 9 or 11…
Who cares?!
It doesn’t matter, not now anyway
The choreography is like fire in my bones
Rushing on its way out