there is a word on my forehead
as though God took a big rubber stamp
and a bright red ink pad
took me by the back of the head to steady me and
pressed it right on
making sure every letter
then He let me go.
i wandered around lost for awhile
at first only vaguely aware something was there
i knew very well the looks i received
meant i had a lable i could not see
but the more i squinted at myself in the mirror
the deeper the lines bled together
i knew i was smudged
but was still illiterate.
i woke up to it one day
the world suddenly
all too clear.
and when i looked in the mirror then
reading the word meant now
i could define it
no longer allowing the opposite
turning stigma and shame into
something i can work with.
I kissed someone in the night,
Then woke to moan my plight,
No one to sing my song with me,
But contentment soon the object of my sight,
The Maker is my might,
Who better to sing in harmony?
Than the one who gave to me?
The melody of soul.
He sweeps the stars in dulcet patterns,
And creams the clouds for frosting,
He bends the eyelash and reddens lips,
Adds all the sweetness to make our hearts dip,
Forward and fall in love with his own stamp of beauty.
The Stamper is the most beautiful;
No crafted canyon, or molded man can compare to the Maker of it all,
For he only takes what is his and gives it out like candy,
To the mouths of all his children, unaware of his hand.
I want to be aware, to see indescribable things,
To watch with inner eyes what few else have seen,
To hear a song of a different dimension,
Lovely amidst dissension, and run towards that which can,
Really, give me what I want,
Give me what I need.
Excuse me, who gave you my stamp of approval
to look at me with such audacity?
If you enjoy looking and not talking, I suggest you google
girls with no self-respect or authenticity.
You think I enjoy being stared at by a stranger?
Or is it that you simply see me as an object,
or that talking to me would result in danger
of finding between us a mental disconnect?
Listen up, boys of age middle school and onward:
girls don't profit from any gawks or crude comments.
And if you want a real relationship that's less awkward,
then make conversation, start friendships, then commitments.
Today. I was almost hit by a car,
wearing a scarlet dress
the way I least wanted to die
by the grill of an SUV.
The engine grinned hotly in my face.
the look on his face was priceless
I bet mine was better.
as I gasped, no room in
vocal cords for screaming
held my hands out
as if that would stop the metal from moving
I don't know why he turned so sharply
I don't know why I put my arms out
or had to walk that way
that particular day
my hands shook in line
at kinkos, holding back every chemical
saying please and thank you
for two sheets of paper
that could have mattered less
over my face with a case of the shakes
life just stamped me with an appreciation
only taught by almost getting hit by an SUV.
life went on around me, the workers in yellow on the corner
got a few moments of thrill.
the folks at Starbucks
the other people grinding their teeth at the stoplights.
a moment excitement.
the apple too.
on the blame scale
with Ever & The Serpent now.
I just want to go
All I need
is a steady pole
to dance on.
Hello, Wednesday nights.
Pass me the fifth
I wanna get belligerent & cocky.