I met a girl with X-ray vision.
She found herself quite smart.
Yet despite
Her fantastic sight
She couldn't find my heart.

There was an *****
that pumped blood
But surely there was something more.
So she climbed
Into my mind
And opened up a door.

There she found
Things somewhat profound,
But they were not of any interest,
So she rose
And found the words I spoke
In the chasms of my lungs.

She saw debate and
The arguments I fought
She saw what I cared about
But it was still not what she sought

Then she leapt into my hands
And saw all that I wrote
She tried to find double meaning
To the carefully chosen words
But there was no leaning
Or things of note.

So she gave up
But began to fall
For when asked what I cared about
My girl with "X-ray vision"
Knew that she didn't know me at all

I dumped SuperGirl because her ***** are hard as rocks.
They are literally harder than concrete cinder blocks.
I should've known they were hard because bullets bounce off of them.
******* that aren't soft should be a crime because it is so grim.
When I broke it off, she made my life a living hell
She burned down my house and ****** in my well.
If you think that was bad, you won't believe the other things that she did.
She lied to Social Services, she said that I abused my son and I lost my kid.
She put an end to my *** life when she used her laser beams to castrate me.
My manhood has been taken and no jail will hold the ***** so she's going free.
My life has fallen to pieces, I would give anything for some Kryptonite.
I would also want Batman's armor suit so I could **** that ***** in a fight.
Don't even think about dating SuperGirl, believe me when I say that it is no fun.
If you date her and break it off, you'd better have a Kryptonite bullet in your gun.

Marissa Ann was a firecracker of a little girl.
For her, there was no fence too tall to climb, no bully too mean to face, no street too busy to cross.
She was all tangled hair and toothy grins.
And she'd yank the book right out of my hands and say, "Gabrielle, we have more important things to do than read."

In the jungle of our lives, Marissa was a lioness, queen of the pride.
I was a mouse not indigenous to these parts of the second grade.
The world was a terrifying place, and I had no problem cowering in the corner, knee-deep in a pile of Nancy Drew.
I tried to stay huddled behind my words, drowning in the ink, attempting to let the pages be my armor.
Marissa would not let me.
When I allowed bookshelves to be my shields, she came guns blazing, and kicked them all down, then stood me back up on my feet.
She'd grab my hand and pull me head first toward adventure.

Marissa was tough, and everyone knew it.
There was not a soul alive brave enough to pick on Marissa Ann.
But me? I was an easy target.
The other girls said I was "weird" with my enormous wire frames resting atop full cheeks, and my frayed jeans, a glowing reminder of my mother's lack of wealth.
I heard the whispers on the playground about the chubby girl who read, (can you believe it?), chapter books.

Brianna was a demon of a child.
She'd bat her pretty little eyelashes and everyone would melt.
She had the entire second grade class wrapped around her tiny little finger.
She'd corner me on the soccer field and do everything she could to remind me that I was different.
But one day at recess, she was nowhere to be found, until I made my way through winding halls, back to the warmth of our classroom.

There sat Marissa with a devilish glint in her eye, waving me over to sit in the desk beside her.
Behind us, a sniffling Brianna, looking forlornly at the teardrop stains on her pink lace skirt, her mouth pulled tight into a perfect straight line.
I looked back at Marissa with a curious glance, then intertwined her hand with my own.
The sound of stifled sobs behind us and the warmth of her skin on mine sealing an unspoken vow between two girls with puzzle piece fingertips that only fit each other.

If I could only open you up and reach inside.
I wish I could give you my passion.
I wonder what the look on your face would be, if you knew
If you knew what it feels like to love someone like I love you.
I think that look would **** me.
The grief that you hadn't felt it before,
The joy that you had it finally,
The fear that life would take it from you.

Your tears burn me.
They hurt in a way that can't find words to live within.
It is a concept that speech only talks around.
I want to give you the world.
I want to show you that you are not a mirror,
Flat and soulless unless somebody is looking.
You are an ocean,
Deep and dark and beautiful, and full.
You make me want to create something lovely and devote it to you,
Simply to let you know that you inspire such things.
You make me want to be what you see me as,
Be better, be stronger, be wiser
For you.
So that you may finally have something fair come to you in this life.
What a sad joke, that you get me as your makeshift savior.

I know the perfect things to say,
The very strings to tug to make you fall apart,
Unravel like a lovely tapestry ruined.
It slays me to do it, to hurt you to heal you.
I know just how to break you down and do it like it's an accident,
Because how could I explain to your trusting heart
That to save it I must bleed it out like this?

But the thing is, you can wreck me too,
You beautiful thing,
Fragile and raw,
You can speak the simplest words and my soul...
It tears itself to bits.
And I think, “Oh god, please don't tell me.
Don't rip my heart out.
Don't be hurt like you are.
Oh, if I could pause you now and never have to know!
It would be as if I didn't already see how fractured you are inside.
I could pretend you're not, I could still save you in my mind...”

But there it is, cold and hard in type.
And I am lost.
And I want to die in the worst way,
To slit my wrists because I exist in the same world that he does,
And I am so revolted that I could do it.
For a moment I really could.
Oh, and you can never know this, never.
Because I am your savior,
Your lion,
Your super hero.
And you hurt so much, and I die every time.

But I have to be there for you,
Up in lights.
As if I know what I'm doing.
As if I can bring justice.
As if I can erase cruelty.
As if I am not afraid, not just shaking with revulsion
That this world is such a place as it is.
I am your super hero, darling,
And I can't breathe.
I can’t save you,
And it will **** me.

How do you exist? How do you yet live?
How is it that you are this whole and so exquisite?
I want to be your hero,
God, I want to be perfect at it.
I want to be your hero.
Because in the end,
Until the end,
You are mine.

i used to think
that i was a tiny dancer
in a music box,
spinning and sparkling
in front of a little mirror,
and girls would make me dance
when they were at their worst,
i would dance and smile,
and their tears would dry,
and they would see their beauty
behind me,
but i was just looking in the wrong mirror.
i used to think i was
the dawn,
stretching out over the horizon,
untouchable,
but dusk came.
i used to call myself
superwoman (or supergirl, because i hadn't
grown up)
and i thought i was invincible,
but i broke my arm when i
ran towards the villain.
i used to say i was a pop-star,
with thousands of adoring fans,
until i realized only my mum
liked my singing.
and then i saw
a monster in the mirror,
and it consumed me for
what felt like forever,
until, finally,
i realized that i was a
tiny dancer,
and if i danced,
i could dry my own tears.
i was the dawn,
but i was also the dusk,
bringing stars to the
broken hearted
(bringing stars to myself)
and i wasn't superwoman,
or even supergirl,
but i could befriend her
and learn her ways.
and when i sang to
the people who mattered,
the people who i loved,
they were soothed,
they liked to hear me sing,
and all was well.
sometimes,
i can still see that monster,
but behind her is the girl
who i know i can be.

Wonder Woman has her standards... and Supergirl has hers,
The Christian woman has God's words... each chapter and each verse...
Each proverb, psalm and prophecy... and God's amazing grace,
Salvation found at Calvary... where miracles took place...

The Christian woman has God's love... no other love comes close,
The tender Saviour smiles above... when such love overflows...
The Holy Spirit grants her gifts... to bless her ministry
And that is why her spirit lifts... and says, 'The Lord loves me!'

She seeks the Lord in all she does... she intercedes as well,
She listens as the men discuss the truths God seeks to tell...
She blesses others when she can... like Mother Mary could,
Because she knows God has a plan... to use her for the good...

The Christian woman does her best... compassion fills her heart,
That's why, sometimes, she needs to rest... because she played her part...
Praise God for her... and those like her... that Jesus will save, too...
If you're like her, then you're super! No wonder God loves YOU!

Denis Martindale

International Women's Day, the 8th of March 2018.

I'm long overdue thanking
The heroes of my youth.

Thank you Superboy
For teaching me how
To read plot and character
And dialogue.
Your comics
Brought phonics
Alive.

Thank you Bouncing Boy
For being somewhat chubby,
And teaching me
Patience and understanding
Of those not quite the
Shape of me.

Thank you Mon El and Ultra Boy
For helping me focus
On one strength at a time;
I've held my  
Weaknesses back from
Overpowering me.

Thank you Lightning Lad
For teaching me that
Accidents happen;
I can move on,
Learn and be stronger.

Thank you Karate Kid
For teaching me that
An average boy,
Through practice and determination
Can achieve what
I dreamt.

Thank you Cosmic Boy
For teaching me to channel
My energy, work with forces
Greater than myself,
And maintain control.

Thank you Chameleon Boy
For the lesson on
Adaptability and attitude
Adjustment.

Thank you Colossal Boy
For making it resoundingly clear
That stature and success are fleeting.
One always returns to
The one before.

Thank you Invisible Kid
For teaching me that I
Will not always go unnoticed
In an opaque world.

Thank you Brainiac 5
For teaching me the importance
Of education and life-long learning.

Thank you Sun Boy
For teaching me to
Shine and look my best,
But never forget
What's inside is brighter still.

Thank you Elastic Lad, Jimmy Olsen,
Who taught me that a loner, a cub,
A red-headed, freckled-faced boy
Could stretch himself,
Can walk with Heroes.

Thank you Shrinking Violet,
Saturn Girl, Phantom Girl,
Lightning Lass, and Supergirl
For all the shapliness
And upskirts
A young lad needs;
You saved ***** Lad
From a life of celibacy
In a Jesuit Seminary.
A Big Thanks!

Why can't I be weak?
Why is it that I can't be selfish?
I'm the one who has to pick up all the pieces.
I'm the one who puts everyone back together.
But who's gonna put me back together?
If I'm supergirl, who's gonna save me?
What am I getting in return?
Who's gonna do something for me?
Because I do this time after time.
And when I wake up I have nothing.
And I am alone.
And I am in shambles.
Sometimes I want to be weak.
Sometimes I need to be broken.
And I want that to be good enough.
I want me to be good enough.
All of me.

No one to say " wait I'm coming"
No supergirl or wonder woman.
I might as well go home
Pick up the phone
Look in my little black book
And try to remember her name.
But after so many years the names all run together..
..and they all look the same.
Seems like I lost at the game
Of love.