Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my *******,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

She says,'goodnight'
but I wait
she might not mean it.
Bit by bit
I realise
that she does.

The last time I sat down with myself
was in the sink
in the dark
penetrating the only creative train I could find.
Coal, cargo...
Robbing words so I didn't have to think
or explain the difference between
'deeming' language and
'demon' language.
From my perspective in the sink,
the retouching of morals
is all circumstantial
because maybe tomorrow I'll save the fire
instead of the human,
you know, save the fire from the human.
That way, I don't have to decide
who's going to burn.

how can you end sadness

when you don’t know why

it exists

Those who lash out when the heart speaks
avoid the many mirrors reflecting themselves
For in this rippled dream,
where perfect does exist
and mistakes are long gone like a Milli Vanilli song,
they fail to see that we are all human…
errors come with the package (batteries not included)

Sidewalk footprints, back and forth
pacing past the entrance to that world
where words have no meaning,
regardless of how they are spoken (or written)
Self-absorbed deeply in the waves
of that ocean tide of fantasy
crashing in white foam feelings, disappearing by sunset

What is it that makes us who we are…
our smile, our fingers, our brand of cigarettes
shipped in plain brown envelopes,
our thoughts, our dreams, the poetry we write
when we need to get it out…good or bad
When lack of judgment drips from the skylight
illuminating courage to do what we shouldn’t (even in darkness)

Wrong, I was wrong…regret, more than I could have known
I have looked in this mirror, then I looked away quickly,
Ashamed of that face, fell three stories below my heart  
slipped on the disgust splattered at my feet (by me)
sunk up to my knees…bent, folding, scraped and bruised
but I require no sympathy, for I am not that devil Jagger sings of…
at least I hope not…please allow me to introduce myself…I am sorry