If only cute were a pill to be taken on a whim I’d have a bottle near at hand to imbibe when calls handsome is the normative good enough for most days still the angst is realized when something more is desired
shirking off the past mantle history stacked upon today asks its due when the urge to bedazzle comes forward stepping out the winsome looks hitting all the high notes surely this may be chased when the enchanting is pursued
perhaps this is too much asking why the itch is there judgment raising its concern to be put out to the curb there are reasons for the thirst chasing images clearly seen promoted by society these are options to be embraced
cuteness springs from within it’s not sourced from a pill pharmaceuticals aren’t enough to project gorgeous looks instead the push is in the mind wearing the outward to impress the choices made are personal provoking beauty to be observed.
The poem “Cute Where a Pill” was inspired by an instance when I wore a very sleek black pencil dress. I personally felt quite **** in it as I tapped into how I would like to present myself and my attributes. The actual presentation was something else. A dear friend said that I looked handsome. I said that I wanted to be cuter. **** was not equating with cute, and I’ve expressed in prose the struggle I’m experiencing.
I had a dream in which I was a beautiful black woman. I knew this was me, transformed, but still a shift from my prior self. I don’t think the poem was saying, “become a black woman”, but I do think it was making a statement regarding how far a possible shift could go.
The journey moves every on with the west now left behind and the goal of east’s abode lays beyond the earthly curve progress marked in baby steps or the lunge to seek an end each serves a purpose in itself discovery made in due course
that in-between of status gained becomes a mystery to be solved a question mark for the world to condemn or to bless indecision seems the way while the self is explained neither cold nor of hot the temperature is just right
there is no schedule to be met the seconds tick into years or the years become the now all will happen in its time even while the finish line moves away to eastern realms with the quest never done to find the self is enough.
The poem “East’s Abode” was inspired by my ongoing journey of self-discovery. I’m currently in a realm of non-binary regarding gender identity. I may stay there, or I may continue onto a binary state. Time will tell.
Somewhere I lost a day twenty-four hours went away this I knew when I awoke and the time had been revoked fast-forward to the now with whiplash in full effect by a skip of in-between in the realm of consciousness
tomorrow has been replaced without remembering yesterday the memory empty as a void where the experiences were explored those hours are now gone stolen by the thief I’ll absolve my mind was the fiend leaving me now betrayed
I’ll continue to move forward knowing tomorrows are one short hoping the rest will arrive and not repeat the day that lied.
The poem “The Day That Lied” is about an actual weekend during which I lost Saturday. I spent the whole of Sunday believing that the next day was going to be the actual Sunday. Needless to say, I was disappointed.
The face of beauty is not denied a vision present to my eyes I stand the captive to the view with scant promise lest I smile the beating heart whispered there knowing much while being mute nodding to the furtive eyes that skew away from lustful thoughts
perhaps the imps will forgive what the angels would decry knowing that I am laid low to seek beyond is folly’s goal in my sight they stand alone creation’s height on pillar’s font much like Venus from the sea with a promise I’d like to keep
these oaths are made by other folks pledged on lives not yet revoked the balance shows on my account not enough to claim a goal I truly wish I could dance in celebration of their lives this I leave to other souls to live the dreams beyond my hopes
what they miss is what I’ll grasp learning more than common man about the object that fascinates the face of beauty to contemplate forever distant while being close by comely sights and nattered chat they are a boon I’ll not deny when the face imbues my life.
The poem “Queerest Tones” is about my shift from away from a heteronormative view of life. This means denoting or relating to a world view that promotes heterosexuality as the normal or preferred ****** orientation. I now seem to come from a place of ***** normativity. The majority of people are viewed as being possibly somewhere on the LGBQTIA+ continuum. Am I correct? I think the answers depends on the group I’m associating with.