"you really are beautiful,
in your own kind of way",
he says
     as he spits through his teeth

in what way is that,
i wonder?

in a way that can't be crammed into a size five dress?
in a way that isn't actually aesthetically appealing?
in a way that's too intelligent to find your misogynistic outburst colored flattery?

he pushes the wire-like hair away from my face
and wipes an angry tear from my freckled cheek
     "see, all you have to do is try."

oh, boy
try
yeah,
     that's what i'll do
so i can catch another in a long line of "men" who think i COULD be beautiful

as if beauty is only one color
     one size
     one shape
as if it can truly be measured with a bathroom scale and a hand-held mirror
and can be purchased at a costly brand-name outlet in a shopping mall near you

my mother's mother has an affinity for referring to my twenty-three extra pounds
in a way that one refers to the neighbor's busted-down ford that needs towed away
"oh, catrina, you really could be so gorgeous,
     if you'd just get rid of some of your fluff."

she pinches at my sides
     and the backs of my arms
     and the little curve at the tops of my thighs
          just below my ***
like i'm an over-stuffed pillow on her antique love-seat
that's about to burst at the seems
     should the seemstress not pull out the threads with her teeth
and remove the unsightly over-fill like black-heads from a slender nose

everything she buys me comes from a plus sized store
     and wears a fat filthy double XL on it's tag

considering that i factually only need a large
i fight back my plump tears and wear a cheap smile
as i give thanks i don't mean
and kiss her on her heavily perfumed cheek
     "oh, such lovely lips
     why not a splash of lipstick?"

as soon as i'm out of her home state
i take the clothes back to the "big-girl" store
and trade them in for pizza and beer money

the girl behind the counter ironically weighs ninety-two pounds soaking wet
and that's only if she's still got on her padded bra
     slender
     starved
     sickly
     and supposedly ****
since when were curves a curse?
and who the **** decided it was a good idea to pattent worth with a lipstick shade, anyway?

no
     no way

i am beautiful without having to paint myself that way
my existence is not defined by the shape i take
my flaws and imperfections can't be remidied with any myriad of poking and plucking
     nipping and tucking
and all of my greatness and wonder sure as **** outweigh a tiny bleach-blonde *****

oh
*******
     and that pretty little pony you rode in on

i refuse to be pressed against a rubric and graded like a show-dog whose owner will only settle for best-in-show
     and kicks his failure of a companion sharply in the ribs when he doesn't bring home another ribbon

this obsession of society's is making us sick
  
we don't teach our children compassion and empathy
     we instead instill their heads with talk of thread count
     and color schemes
     how to brush on blush
     and how to pick a suit
cute won't save the world

i beg you sisters
     please
let us not give this disease to our daughters
let us not allow our sons to carry the gene

together
     let's put to rest the ill-concieved notion of our beauty residing without us
          rather than within

let us never again bow down to the revlon gods of vanity

together
we are Woman
     and we deserve to finally soar

Oh, my darling, won't you write me a love poem please?
This is something that I've been wanting
I just want to make sure that your love for me
Has not ceased.

Oh, my darling, won't you write me a love poem please?
You make me weak and make my heart flutter
What have I done to make myself that your heart
May freeze?

Oh, my darling, won't you write me a love poem please?
keep telling me that you love me
For if I keep shaking ill
Break my knees.

Oh, my darling, won't you write me a love poem please?
When you don't show me affection you
Make me feel like I may
have fleas.

Oh, my darling, won't you write me a love poem please?
Don't you know that I can feel you everywhere
From the sun on my skin to my hair
In the breeze?

Oh, my darling, won't you write me a love poem please?
Just please please please
Write me a love poem.

The word “****”
Is something kids should never have to learn
You should never have to know what is means
To be pushed down and have them forced upon you
Its nothing youth should know
Its nothing kids should know
Its nothing anyone should know
Its just a four letter word
Turned into a world of horror
Where the word “*****”
Gets thrown around at the wrong times
How did I ever bring this hell upon myself
When the clothes I was wearing were baggy
The shirt I had was collard
My pants were long, no holes
How did I scream out
“Take my innocence
Its okay I’m thirteen today”
Because I didn’t,
And if I do recall
I said the word “no”
So how does that give you the right to say
“Oh boys will be boys”
*He was no boy
He was almost twenty

I  did a gig last night
at the local bar - Moderation Inn,
they called it

and  I played the piano
late into the night -
the usual tunes, the usual crowd:
friends and lovers
people talking aloud
no one who drank in moderation;
couples dancing...when I noticed
an elephant in the corner
crying,  
and I said to the elephant
even as I continued playing:
"Recognise the tune?"

"No,"  said the elephant,
shaking its head
*"I recognise the ivory"

She is sixty. She lives
the greatest love of her life.

She walks arm-in-arm with her dear one,  
her hair streams in the wind.
Her dear one says:
“You have hair like pearls.”

Her children say:  
“Old fool.”