andrew.
i fall to my knees at his feet with a heavy breath.
i almost feel unworthy.
this person, this man-
he's perfection in flesh and blood.
i feel blessed.
this angel, a saint with flaws, perfect flaws.
i nearly worship him.
godlike, i search his face for signs of light, anything celestial or close to it.
i find them faintly, small, unnoticeable to anyone who's wronged him.
he is perfect, and somehow, he is mine.

I long to taste a sugar plum off the ****** tree,
walk in the field of golden grass just to feel.
I want to feel the sugar plum tree, high at stake and bright with sweet bumble nests.
We all talk about apple trees, but why not the plum tree?
Gracefully swaying it's branches in the summers light.
I long to taste a sugar plum, laced in sweet white crystals.
The juice flows through our mouths, fresh, cold, and sweet.
Deep colors from it's roots to it's leaves, we have brown, light purple to dark purple, which we call plum, green delight how beautiful it is in my sight. I want a sugar plum, to bite into it's fruitful dismay and lay on natures green bed, so soft, so gentle. Stare into the clouds watching them gently float by, a cool breeze of sweet air swishes amongst my earthly face as i fall asleep under the sugar plum tree.

I gave something to you
that belonged to me,
but most importantly
I gave something to you
that I should have wanted for me.

Mayan Poetry Translations

The Receiving of the Flower
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let us sing overflowing with joy
as we observe the Receiving of the Flower.
The lovely maidens beam;
their hearts leap in their *******.

Why?

Because they will soon yield their virginity to the men they love!

###

The Deflowering
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Remove your clothes;
let down your hair;
become as naked as the day you were born—

virgins!

###

Prelude to *******
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Lay out your most beautiful clothes,
maidens!
The day of happiness has arrived!

Grab your combs, detangle your hair,
adorn your earlobes with gaudy pendants.
Dress in white as becomes maidens ...

Then go, give your lovers the happiness of your laughter!
And all the village will rejoice with you,
for the day of happiness has arrived!

###

The Flower-Strewn Pool
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You have arrived at last in the woods
where no one can see what you do
at the flower-strewn pool ...

Remove your clothes,
unbraid your hair,
become as you were
when you first arrived here,

virgins, maidens!

These are my modern English translations of ancient Mayan love poems. Native Americans were creating poems and songs in pre-Columbian days; Mayan and Aztec literature may date back to the first millennium BCE. Unfortunately the Spanish conquerors of South America destroyed all but four of the thousands of pre-Columbian books that probably once existed (according to translator Michael Coe). Mayan hieroglyphs remain far from fully understood and dating what remains is difficult. However, the best poetry is timeless and I believe we can know our Mayan brothers and sisters a little better through their poems.—Michael R. Burch
These are my modern English translations of ancient Mayan love poems. Native Americans were creating poems and songs in pre-Columbian days; Mayan and Aztec literature may date back to the first millennium BCE. Unfortunately the Spanish conquerors of South America destroyed all but four of the thousands of pre-Columbian books that probably once existed (according to translator Michael Coe). Mayan hieroglyphs remain far from fully understood and dating what remains is difficult. However, the best poetry is timeless and I believe we can know our Mayan brothers and sisters a little better through their poems.—Michael R. Burch

Keywords/Tags: ancient, Mayan, poetry, translation, translations, love, virginity, ***, marriage, joy, happiness, flower, flowers, deflowering, clothes, hair, ******, nakedness

One, two, three, four, the digits increment daily
Makes me fearfully wonder which number I am of the  many
I know boys like you are proud of their body count
Every casualty places you a rank higher, nearly twenty

It's the triumph of your manhood, the cause of others' envy
You think back fondly on these memories and leave me feeling empty
Every reaped ****** pinned on your chest in the form of a medallion
While every story of your victory encourages me to be petty

A wound in my chest where your bullet had pierced through
And a tally of scars on my skin for the times I've missed you
From when I so foolishly gave you my untainted heart
You were my one and only, and I dared expect to be yours too

The image of countless women wrapped around your body
These haunting thoughts racing through my head endlessly  
You smirk and brag like you're the golden saint of filth
Your pride making me regret and ashamed that you're my one and only

Your wealth in experience highlighting your superiority
I hate how you carelessly point out my inferiority
When you dodge the question "are you pleased?"
As I desperately pray for a change to make me  equally worthy

I almost crave the same attention that you received
To feel accomplished for once and to feel relieved
For you say to I'm good enough rather than turn away
For, to be your best, to be special is all I want to have achieved

Come!
by Michael R. Burch

Will you come to visit my grave, I wonder,
in the season of lightning, the season of thunder,
when I have lain so long in the indifferent earth
that I have no girth?

When my womb has conformed to the chastity
your anemic Messiah envisioned for me,
will you finally be pleased that my *** was thus rendered
unpalatable, disengendered?

And when those strange loathsome organs that troubled you so
have been eaten by worms, will the heavens still glow
with the approval of God that I ended a maid―
thanks to a *****?

And will you come to visit my grave, I wonder,
in the season of lightning, the season of thunder?

Keywords/Tags: sonnet, god, religion, Christianity, puritanism, chastity, ******, virginity, nun, ***, lust, desire, death, grave, passion, lightning, thunder, earth, womb, tomb, worms, organs, maid, maidenhead, *****

We decided to drive.
I sat in the back because, you told me you were a good driver.
I sat in the back because I trusted you.
I let my body hover over the seat, shivered as the cold metallic handle graced my hands.
You told me, I didn’t need to.
I didn’t need to wear the seat belt because we were so, so close to our destination even though I had no idea what that was,
I didn’t put my seatbelt on because you told me not to.
And as the green lights turned to yellows and reds
We kept driving
All along the same road
The roads turned from single lanes to four; 5 lanes to one
And I kept looking out the window
The little girl in the back seat
Trusting people is a privilege.
I remember your hollowed voice echoing through my ears as you turned the volume up
How you tried fighting over the bass, hoping you’d get your message across
And we drove
We drove past trees and the ocean; across canyons and we even tried driving over the moon, we would have done it if we could.
And I remember trusting your hands
How they moved over the steering wheel so gracefully
My mother always told me to be relaxed and to trust the driver, they have your best intentions and anyways I never liked fighting
So I decided not to fight
And as the sun said it’s final goodbyes and the last layers of light was stripped away
And like painting over walls in a new house
The stars crept in, but eerily
Your hands did not glide over the steering wheel anymore.
Not graciously, at least.
I sat in the back, all alone
I repeated in my head the vows, the trust, the desperation
I decided to hum along to the music, the music to drum out your ramblings
We drove for so long.
And your hands did not feel safe anymore.
I wanted to say stop.
I wanted to cry out in all that is holy-
I wanted to put my safety belt on
I wanted my mother
I wanted it all to end
After all, I never liked driving, and my trust was barely holding on, it was caving into itself as the trees tried breaking our windows.
Your feet slowly, daringly hit the gas
You turned the music up so you couldn’t hear my shouts, here my deficit crying
Even though nothing floated out of my mouth
Nothing came out, only tears
Only wonders and what ifs
And nervous air
You gambled with the breaks, decided it was never worth stopping
I remember crying in the back seat.
We had driven so far.
I was told good girls are quiet
You said you wanted the best for me
And so you hit the gas
And over the moon we drove
Over the biggest canyon we went
The trees carried us on our journey
And the glass broke the chains of every memory and thought one has
The glass broke the seat belt.
The glass broke my screams.
The glass broke me.
The glass cut itself.
Once you fell next to me,
You finally stopped
I never liked to fight.
I never liked to yell.
I never liked to be quiet either.
I never liked to scream.
But I always hated driving.