Little Red Riding Hood walked through the woods
Singing and swinging her bag of baked goods
When out of the brush leapt a wolf with a smile
And some florist’s advice for the innocent child.
So off went the girl, picking bunches of daisies
While Wolf raced ahead with a step none too lazy.

Then at Grandmother’s door he knocked and said
“Let me in dear Grandmother, it’s your little Red."
So with grandmother’s blessing he let himself in
And ate up the oldest of little Red’s kin.  
Then Little Red Riding Hood came through the door
With nary a clue of what was in store.
After noting her “grandmother’s” ears, nose, and teeth
Into Wolf’s gullet she went with a shriek.

As the transvestite wolf began snoring like thunder,
Along came a huntsman, who cut his belly asunder.
Out came Red Riding Hood, Grandmother too
While Wolf, so oblivious, kept sleeping right through.
With a few heavy stones, a needle and thread
Wolf, far too full, finally woke then dropped dead.  

After a party of baked goods and wine,
The huntsman gave Red a great wolf pelt so fine.  
“Thank you, dear huntsman,” said our little Red,  
“But I’d rather skin wolves on my lonesome instead.  
I know things now, of these beasts and their wiles
I’ll give them a lesson, with blood and with style.
Teach me to stalk, to chase and to shoot
The best huntress I’ll be - and the cutest, to boot."

The huntsman, he roared with his big booming laughter.
In a voice that rose straight up to the rafters:
“Why little girl, have you a taste for the hunt?
You’re better off sewing, though I hate to be blunt.”
But little Red pouted, and threatened to cry
So the huntsman gave in, with a shrug and a sigh.

The huntsman- he was a formidable teacher.
Now Red lives in fear of no living creature.
Today, when Red Riding Hood walks through the woods
She carries bags of new, furry goods.  
And when out of the brush leaps a wolf with a smile,
She smiles right back: “You’ve picked the wrong child."

Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds on which you lay,
but also those desires which for you
plainly glowed in the eyes,
and trembled in the voice -- and some
chance obstacle made them futile.
Now that all belongs to the past,
it is almost as if you had yielded
to those desires too -- remember,
how they glowed, in the eyes looking at you;
how they trembled in the voice, for you, remember, body.

Don’t text me when you’re drunk
Don’t even say my name when you’re high
Don’t think about me when you’re with her
Don’t reduce my worth to that

I haven't heard from you in a while
I haven't pulled out your picture and looked at it in ages
I haven't written poetry about you in a long time
I haven't been missing you

You used to be more interested in books than Ecstasy
You used to swear for no reason less
You used to be kinder
You used to be what you aren't anymore

I secretly hope you've looked at my picture once or twice
I secretly hope you'll text me again one day
I secretly hope you miss me just a little bit
I secretly hope that if you ever decide to "miss me" again I have the strength and courage to say "That's nice."

not "I miss you too"

My eyes are just a translation,
For you to understand my mind,
For you to see the colors speak,
My thoughts are a foreign language,
And when you're around my eyes, my thoughts,
They get a whole lot more colourful....

I trusted you,
more than enough.
I had closure,
just not enough.
I was woman,
more than enough.
You had me,
just not enough.
You taught me,
more than enough.
I loved me,
just not enough.
I loved you,
more than enough.
You loved me,
just not enough.