She's open like a 9 till 5 store, night
shift worker short skirt cleavage
enhancing bra, making it look like
she has more than she has got. She
can offer you different services, its
just how much paper you have in
your wallet to what you get and see.

She smiles, does the deed she'll
swallow for extra, but she asks are
you clean? She smiles when finishes
licks the last bit off her mouth, she
gets out and again walks the street
to find the next drive by wallet, that
wants some late night fun.

She smiles when she sees you but
under that smile is disgust, a job not
wanted not wrote on her next CV. A
single mother with no job, a friend
looks after the baby, a job not wanted
she throws up after every meet.

The world is not what you think, some
do this 9 to 5 job not because they like
it, but to pay bills to put food on the
plate. Because no one is going to help,
the father ran out and left her with
the baby. She is strong for her little one
and does this so she can care for her
baby. hoping that one day she'll
not need to walk the streets.

Those days,
in the mornings,
I stay longer in bed.

Just gazing ,at the ceiling,
Trying to , forget
Those nights.
;I'm unable to dream.

Just over thinking,
to the point,  I fail to
silence my thoughts,
and my eyelids are denying sleep.

Those times,
I feel extraneously not exisiting,
I stand still , watching everything,
fall into place, nor fall apart
unaware* that time is still going,
and I'm just s t u c k.

in; This world,
I have gone underestimated.
Told I should go in others' path.

That my faith isn't good enough,
that I am too weak, too weak,                                                     @DemaaMu
that for my own sake,
I should listen, to their commands.

But I can never go any other way than the path I am destined to go on .

So I just lay in bed;
sick of pretending, someone I am not,
sick of people changing my identity,        

And in this life, in this world in those times in those days and nights,
I have gone, **unknown.

I

Some day I will go to Aarhus
To see his peat-brown head,
The mild pods of his eye-lids,
His pointed skin cap.

In the flat country near by
Where they dug him out,
His last gruel of winter seeds
Caked in his stomach,

Naked except for
The cap, noose and girdle,
I will stand a long time.
Bridegroom to the goddess,

She tightened her torc on him
And opened her fen,
Those dark juices working
Him to a saint's kept body,

Trove of the turfcutters'
Honeycombed workings.
Now his stained face
Reposes at Aarhus.

II

I could risk blasphemy,
Consecrate the cauldron bog
Our holy ground and pray
Him to make germinate

The scattered, ambushed
Flesh of labourers,
Stockinged corpses
Laid out in the farmyards,

Tell-tale skin and teeth
Flecking the sleepers
Of four young brothers, trailed
For miles along the lines.

III

Something of his sad freedom
As he rode the tumbril
Should come to me, driving,
Saying the names

Tollund, Grauballe, Nebelgard,
Watching the pointing hands
Of country people,
Not knowing their tongue.

Out here in Jutland
In the old man-killing parishes
I will feel lost,
Unhappy and at home.

My feet shift oceans
When I wade.
My fingers poked craters
In the moon when I tripped
Over the Shatsky Rise
Under a stroll to Oceania from

Eurasia. I eat from
Tectonic plates;  
Glaciers are my
Popsicles.

I shake fallen stars from my
Shoulders and walk on,
Earthquake by earthquake.
Interstellar breezes soothe the

Blisters from when I
Burned my head on the sun.
My arms can reach Mars, look:
Red bits of Olympus Mons and

Nereidum under my
Fingernails.

I leap lightyears.
I cry tsunamies over the fact that

You can't see me.

As rivers seek the sea,
  Much more deep than they,
So my soul seeks thee
  Far away:
As running rivers moan
On their course alone
  So I moan
  Left alone.

As the delicate rose
  To the sun's sweet strength
Doth herself unclose,
  Breadth and length:
So spreads my heart to thee
Unveiled utterly,
  I to thee
  Utterly.

As morning dew exhales
  Sunwards pure and free,
So my spirit fails
  After thee:
As dew leaves not a trace
On the green earth's face;
  I, no trace
  On thy face.

Its goal the river knows,
  Dewdrops find a way,
Sunlight cheers the rose
  In her day:
Shall I, lone sorrow past,
Find thee at the last?
  Sorrow past,
  Thee at last?