I think I'd like to recline into my mind
for a while and just speak French.
Ooh la la my pretend friends
inside my head are real again
their little voices sont parfait
here I drink tea and discuss politics
au francais and he didn't leave me,
Rachel isn't dying and it's okay.

It comes in fits and bursts
I hide from it sometimes

others, I zip up the backless
dress, stick on my heels

and strut
take the knife and sing

cut loose
swing my hips and forget

I am heavier than I should be,
remember all the boys that used me

used to want me,
glare in the mirror and say

today
I can be better than I have ever been

today
I am queen

today
I am blonde and young and beautiful

and fabulous,
drink ***** raw as burning flesh

my mind is a million men on fire
screaming and dancing

only alive as it is dying.
I am a *****, I am a metaphor

I am the only one,
only me, only.

I dreamt I killed a man.
Somebody really burnt
the old mill to the ground
down in a crackling
bonfire
as half the town just watched,
eyes wide and gaping mouths
like mackerel.
My skin is whiter
than the snowdrops
in my garden. I imagine
you, kissing my belly.
I wish someone would just
relight me.

The heart composes music
that nobody can hear
except yourself.

My body heaves and convulses
while tears stream down my face
blurring my vision
like a camera lens in fog.

My mind was sick.
I had just watched the movie
The Pianist about the Holocaust.
The Holocaust was sick.
A man in a wheelchair fell
from a tenth story window,
dumped out by the SS.
Sickness.

My body was sick.
I could not speak.
I could barely cry for that matter.
All I could do was sob.

My spirit was sick.
I hadn't prayed in a whole month
and God and I were floating
farther   and         farther            apart.

My soul was moved.
I heard the real star in The Pianist
Wladyslaw Szpilman play
Chopin's Nocturne in C# Minor.
(that is NOT a hashtag)

That was when I broke down.

We love a good introspection.
A lot of thinking-outside-the-box
a dash of sponaneity with a pinch
of romance.
A lot of pondering, wandering
wondering and pandering.
We crave intimacy and to woo we say,

"Look at my poetry."

Our minds are wired differently.
We tend to see things not as they are
but what they can be.
We are silently affectionate but rarely
spout off our poems in public.
We love deeply, fall hard and
live out our lives according to our
composition books.

Stop thinking that you are too much
this or that
too ugly or too fat
because you are worth
much more
than a number.

No jean size, person or society
can dictate how you live your life.
No failure or mistake can ever
define you.

You are only defined by your character.