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Rochelle Foles Mar 2019
As children
We who wore tights to school
   were taught
to wok in high heels
with a book on our heads


to never wear mascara
on our bottom lashes

                        red lipstick = harlot
            red nails = *****
            wearing jewelry = sinful


                       to be proper
                       to mind our manners


           the three monkeys mantra



                      



So we still
Go downtown in our good clothes            
Wearing high heels carrying a matching bag

We have expensive taste
Reputations to uphold

fast cars
      +
          faster boys
      =
           red lipstick
red nails
bodies bejeweled



We learned
All of that                                      Indoctrination
was nonsense









Oh! The high heels of heartache!
How those cruel shoes constrained us
the worship of deities can uplift ones soul or contaminate and desolate it.
Rochelle Foles Mar 2019
THE VAST ARID
LANDSCAPE OF HIS SOUL
THE SAHARA
IN A SANDSTORM
HER MEMORY A MIRAGE
water, shade, reprieve
he could no longer
find shelter in
this is from a poetry prompt on @RelisticPoetry on Twitter.  the pic for the prompt was huge dry sand dunes in the midday heat of the sun.
Rochelle Foles Feb 2019
alluring astute astounding
       creature
        born of
  
moonlightraysandkissesofoshun           wavesonbaretoesatmidnight
pleads

sotto voce

as the hiss of gaslights hush

& darkness
                  

                
          l           o           p           e           s           t           h         e                                                                              
                                                                                                
       e                                                                                               r                                                                                                        
                                                                                                      
      v                                                                                                    o
                                                                                                                    
   n                                                                                                          o

e                                                                                                                  m                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  


like death taking a young child innocently playing





         despite her   des  pair it cry

she could not be heard
for they did not see
                          her


trapped there
  betwixt

         the fall and the rise


              a ray of the full moon for ever trapped in her own eclipse

                                         seeingallyetforeverunseen
                                         brilliancetrapedintheblackholeofeternalnight

born under a dead star

sun extinguished

nothing rising stillhopeagainhopeagainhopeagainhopeonhopealways as
                                    whispers f
                                                      a
                                                         l
                                                           l
            
                                                                            
   muteondea f earsaretruerthanboogiemenunderthebed




moon aglo behind her with no mirror to reflect
             her luminosity

                  into the endless night


                                       she & her

                                       solitaryexistance              vanish
                                                   into


infin i..........
                                               t
so many children are unseen, unheard and they have so much to give.  what happens when we put ourselves in their shoes?

— The End —