Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Under the microscope,
the microcosm of hope being telescoped
into your eyes.
Who out there denies that they have never been intrigued,have never walked the seven leagues to find inside themselves the mind that is their own,
Is it me,
am I all alone in this,do the stars not shine outside these bars of mine?
Underneath the microscope the seeds of hope shall grow,shall know me yet,before you forget me.
 Feb 2014 Danielle Rose
AJ
Stupid white girl.
We are not allowed to do anything.
We're prim and proper, white girls.
We are not allowed to fight back.
Put us in our place, white girls.
We are not allowed real work.
We still want our twenty three cents back.

The child of fair skin and blue eyes.
But with all my female privilege,
Came a nasty stamp on my body.
Like a watermark.
FEMALE.
I have heard that when a woman looks in the mirror, she sees a woman.
But when a man looks in the mirror, he sees a human.

Even with that watermark, our pale skin is used as a canvas.
And everyone else has been handed the tools to color in our curves.
Covering us in blue and black and purple and red.
Redrawing our minds so they cannot process the discrimination,
Painting over our tears so our feelings can be buried,
Manufacturing open legs when you want them,
Closed when you don't.
Erasing the lips we use to speak out,
Erasing the eyes we use to see all of this.

You think just because you held the brush,
Just because you created this monstrosity of a "masterpiece"
You get to claim ownership of this piece of artwork
That you blatantly disregard
Is my BODY.

The "fe" you tack onto "male"
Does not stand for Free Entry.
The "wo" you tack onto "man"
Does not stand for Wipe Out.

Women are barely able hold a pencil.
I was lucky to hold one long enough to draw myself
A conscience, a backbone, legs to stand on, and a mind.
We were only taught how to use the back end of that pencil
To erase our mouth and keep the secrets.
But these days the secrets are keeping themselves.

I will not be put in a glass case
You will not charge admission
To have people come and analyze me.
Buy me.
Give me value.
Categorize me.
Preserve me the way you created.

You are no artists.
You are vandals.
Come interrupt me

And fill my soul

With your own words

As I am not able

To find

My own

Teach me

Your language

Soft and slowly

So there will be

More of you

More of me

More of us

Be my poetry

I’ll be your poem.
 Feb 2014 Danielle Rose
PrttyBrd
High upon a pedestal
Backlit by Angels
A vision of perfection
A smile resplendent and healing
A magical site to behold

She does not see all she does
She just does what needs doing
Trudging through clumsily
Never thinking she hangs the moon
And the sun is merely a reflection of her soul
21114
 Feb 2014 Danielle Rose
Guss
Gravity keeps me keen to the world.
I love the blades of green delight when they tickle at my toes.  
I love the rays of yellow dwarf.
At my freckles, they jest.
It seems senseless how our Masters get away with ******.
We sharpen their blade and willingly hand it to Master.  
And he drives it back into our chest.
A willing sacrifice, I would admit.
But I fear the feeling of helplessness
curses my allegiance to the Gods.
So tonight I close my helpless eyes
and learn to fly for forever.
 Feb 2014 Danielle Rose
Guss
I wish I was a haiku,
but it's too hard.
 Feb 2014 Danielle Rose
Guss
So here you find me on the roof of my building.
Looking up to find me a star,
so I can name it.
I keep the name a secret.
Mystery keeps the world turning.
I put the name in my artificial pocket
and next month I’ll find it.
I'll pull it out and recall its place above me.
Its purpose, for you, still a mystery
but to me, a religion.
Forged by the great father of engineering,
I stand *****.
I am perfect by design,
but flawed for being made.
No pulse, but my mind is always beating.
Calculating stability, analyzing data,
crunching number after number
and finding a unanimous rhythm.
Time for me is nothing,
and thus I will be everlasting.
I dream about silence,
the kind of silence with her,
as we lie together in our comforts.
There's no need for speech or
constructed words between us,
sensuous fragrances, tastes
& hot-visuals will do.

Pheromones spin around us
in a heavy cloud,
I trace her with my tongue,
run her entire length,
she begs me for more
with the way she moves
her awesome body,
not too loud.

It's so much fun
to up the tempo staring
into her pretty eyes
as she coyly smiles,
I inhale her musk &
she relinquishes
her healthy thighs,
sighs so sweetly
when I touch her there.

She guides me into her
& we transcend the Earthly,
explode into a fireball,
without spoken words,
just our primal language,
the silence of pure love.
I swear I really want to write one.

I come up with a few great ideas,
formulate them into my creative mind,
then when I go to pen them
into an epic,
they end up much shorter.

Like, what would Virgil say?
Lord Byron would certainly cringe
at my bits and pieces of written word.
Alighieri & Milton would probably
laugh their arses off,
Ovid snicker & what about Homer?

I swear I really want to write one.

An epic like The Divine Comedy,
perhaps a slice of Don Juan,
a bit of Beowulf,
some Odyssey?
I wish I could find
some Paradise Lost,
a piece of the Illiad,
I pray for a Metamorphoses!

I swear I really want to write one!
Next page