I come from a pair of hands, one nesting within the other, raised upwards, toward the sun.
I come from the darkened pigment of henna on one's skin, of prejudice unmasked.
I come from the sights and smells of a foreign place, of culture shock and a mind full to the brim but still empty enough to learn more.
I come from a pen, from ink, from a desk in the corner of a room with empty picture frames covering the walls, waiting for worthy people to fill them.
I come from a legacy of change, of peace as a movement instead of an idea; from strong-minded individuals who knew what really mattered, and knew what really didn't.
I come from a puddle of light on a windowsill, waiting to be captured under the scrutiny of a careful artist's eye.
I come from silence.
I come from apprehension, doubt, and a graceless fear of falling.
I come from my destiny, something I intend to fulfill.
I come from starlight, from a fingernail moon, from something not me altogether.
I come from death, voices unheard.
I come from underwater, ready to seek my fortune on land.
I come from the past, unclouded by memory and dreams, the cycle beginning anew.
I come from the vibrant heartbeat that is life, reverberating in my skin.
I come from a voice above the crowd; a lunar eclipse; a light, universal, mine.

Maggots do their work
   so well --
erasing flesh
   and features.
To look upon these
   white, parched bones,
one could never know
how beautiful --
   how divine --
this creature was.
How she walked
under starry skies,
and danced to
   midsummer,
all entranced.
How in spring she
gathered bouquets of
   dogwood --
an orange poppy
behind her ear.
And in winter,
   oh winter,
how this beauty
hid amongst the
   skeleton trees,
with snow all 'round
and dainty hands
in woolen gloves.
But it was in autumn
I loved her best.
The tawny hues
highlighting her
chestnut hair.  
Running through the
   fallen leaves,
and laughing because
she loved life so very much.
Standing beneath
the crimson trees
in a gold-velvet gown,
her eyes sparkling
and the deepest brown.

Maggots do their work
   so well --
erasing flesh
   and features.
To look upon these
white, scoured bones
one would never know
how divine --
   how beautiful --
this creature was.

I know your smell
Like warm bread,
like sweet, hot breath
It follows as I leave
It clings lazily to my clothing
and it's imbedded in my hair

I let the water fall on me
and so you swim down the drain
I can never get clean from you,
because you can never make me feel *****
Only alive

There's throbbing and aching,
in the place where you've been
I smile and remember,
as I close my eyes
You know all my sweet spots

You have never taken from me
You only give, and give, and give
and you're with me when I go

I breathe in and say,
this is what love is for

don’t worry about decisions anymore.
I can think for you. Here,
buy this brand of tampons.
Watch me now. It’s more absorbent. Here, stick them in your ears. You’ll have
s   o  f   t  e  r
t   h  o  u  g  h  t  s.

Pillowy white fluuuufffyyythoughts.
    
You don’t need your brain anyway.
no more thinking,
I can think for you.
here, watch me now.
Look at these happy plastic
assless women
wearing delicate bras,
so beautiful.
Why don’t you buy one?

they’re uncomfortable

well you’re ugly,
unwanted,
but you wear what
you
want.
Wear this bra.
Maybe it will keep your heart from aching.

You don’t need your heart; I can feel.

I can feel for you.




So watch me. Hey, look here.
Buy these shoes. They make your legs look like celery stalks, but your husband will “do it” with you again. That’s what you want, right?

right.

Put them on. Please your man, make the food, wear the shoes. Don’t think.
Please your man, feed the kids, do the work. Wear the shoes. Don’t you dare think.

I can
Think For You.


Aptitude is overrated. Your biggest asset is
your body, bereft of a brain. Don’t think. I can think for you.
Wear this. Buy that.
Spend your husband’s money, make him happy.
Please your man,
make the food,
wear the shoes.
Now, for your anxiety,
take these pills.
Three little blue pills, one big orange pill, one little white pill.
This one makes you skinny.
This one makes your teeth white.
This one makes you dumb, this one makes you numb.
Don’t think. Don’t worry about where your husband is.
He’ll probably come home tonight.
There is no divorce on TV, so it must not exist.
Don’t think. Oh, you poor little ****** woman.
Tiny, powerless drone robot. Don’t think.
Robots don’t have brains.
Dolls don’t have brains.
****,
***,
*******,
legs,
don’t have brains.




Close your mouth.
Don’t speak.
I can speak for you.

That bra is uncomfortable?
Shut up.
You want me to wear a ******?
Shut up.

You want to be yourself, with the brain, with the ******, with the
*******, with the child. You can’t have all and be free. Choose.
Don’t choose. I will choose for you.


Please      your     man

Make      the      food

wear      the      shoes

There will be no discussion.
There will be no negotiation.
There is no **** on TV, so it must not exist.

No thinking
no thoughts
no brain,

just ****, ***, *****, legs.
wear the shoes, please your man, make the food.

Eat. Sleep. Breathe. Work.
Die.

Recognize the regulations,
recognize your place.
Your /place/ is in the shoes,

those   d e v i l      traps

eating your sweet feet.

all the time--wear them
They are
comfortable. They are ****.
don’t think
don’t cry
don’t moan
whisper
whimper
Shut up. Don’t speak.
I will
speak for you.
Clocks, computers, ****, ***.

You
Are
Nothing

And she said;
“They’re just scratches,
not deep cuts.”
 
Just the remnants of the itch against it all.
 
“Silly really.”
 

Silly.

And she swayed as she stood.
 
Her eyes flashed vacant.

Absentmindedly
I foreplay with nature
and finger the air, contemplate
that even the bananas
appear to be spooning
while two oranges,
nestle in their woven
straw pod,for heavens sake!
even the pink pan and brush set
are celebrating their design
of fitting, matching,belonging,
together,and those ivory bowls
see, how one is carried,
the other sheltered,
and dont get me started
on the shoes, the boots
the pairs,oh my god
the pairs...

I wanted to send
an X,
equidistant
from four corners like

two swords
crossed, a stitch
on a blue screen

a multiplication
of nothing
no sweet thing flanking
its side's

just one X

loud

how like stars, innumerably beautiful, do girls crowd her face(the earth)whose cheeks, like those infinite pretty sparks, swell with the nubile quavering light o' ladies perfumed in youth; which cling to my eyes and soul like those fierce twinklers to the deep quiver of night.