Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
how odd, to be a woman and a girl to wear the dresses but concern about cleavage more than meets the eye: because. and so we waddle for the men – twisting straps, my petticoat drawbridge i am over-aware of myself: know the pulse and when to tug draperies from ‘part thighs they only see what i am okay with, which does not include exhaling. i am like a drum, drumbeat i punch my body until the purple softens and it sounds beautiful, but incomprehensible: me, this woman-girl and child cheeks placed upon petals that flap with attention, not the old storm breezes – every april shower molded me into a flower i rise above each season, gay spectacle the men that believe hurricanes so enigmatic must lust me for such a reason – i have been through many in girlhood that i bleed one as a woman. because of word infidelities, the muse april said that i am only as big as my body and i grew, grew, grew until my stem became caught to where it grew no longer, a woman-child who took the wind like salad dressing.
0
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:36 PM UTC
woman-child
how odd, to be a woman and a girl to wear the dresses but concern about cleavage more than meets the eye: because. and so we waddle for the men – twisting straps, my petticoat drawbridge i am over-aware of myself: know the pulse and when to tug draperies from ‘part thighs they only see what i am okay with, which does not include exhaling. i am like a drum, drumbeat i punch my body until the purple softens and it sounds beautiful, but incomprehensible: me, this woman-girl and child cheeks placed upon petals that flap with attention, not the old storm breezes – every april shower molded me into a flower i rise above each season, gay spectacle the men that believe hurricanes so enigmatic must lust me for such a reason – i have been through many in girlhood that i bleed one as a woman. because of word infidelities, the muse april said that i am only as big as my body and i grew, grew, grew until my stem became caught to where it grew no longer, a woman-child who took the wind like salad dressing.
sarina
Written by
American
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:36 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem