If your heart
truly had strings,
I would wear my
fingertips raw
in search of your melody.

My body is the
temple where both love and hate
reside in turmoil.

Oh!  There it is!
The blood of my Mothers’
Sins
Blossoming on
My white sheets
Like a bouquet of English roses.
A shame -
Laundry day had
Been yesterday.  

My thighs have been painted
Rouge -
They blush
Like my cheeks
When my gaze
Lingers on my body
Too long in the mirror
As I put on my Sunday dress.

The needles in my
Lower back fill my
****** with blood -
I am a woman now -
And as such I must
Wake before the sun
And wash my sheets
And my body
Before anyone has a chance
To smell the iron and the shame
Between my legs.  

I have never been so
Acutely aware of my body:
My sore ******* feel like
Overripe tomatoes ready to burst,
My stomach bloated and taking up
Space I’m told is not ladylike -
My head throbs, my limbs ache, and
I continue to shed my insides.
How is it I never noticed
The cry of my body before?

A week of blood
Before I have served my sentence
For a woman
Who dared to disobey -
I clean the stains
And wash myself
Away.

i didn't want to turn you into a poem
i didn't want you to be my muse
you've ruined my mind and my pen
you've made me blind to inspiration
i can't hold the pages still anymore
i can't understand my own writing 
your hair isn't a waterfall 
your eyes aren't deep oceans 
i'm not held here by your gravity
i'm not sure that your voice is music
you won't own me
i won't turn you into poetry

[holyoak]