how irresistible: to be just a body. blushes bruises friday nights.
what a strange thing.
to lay with my cheeks up, face down in the face of man's kindness; to owe.
this body is not mine conquer, it is yours. please touch me roughly. i deserve to forget for awhile. you do all the remembering.

do not take your time. do not linger.

let me be somewhere else, moan

i am the carpet you forgot wipe feet your feet on. you are the door i leave wide open. i welcome the breeze. grab me, this skin

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.

I crave the decadence for what I cannot contain,
For my body yearns for something more than I am,
Tiresome it is of lacking,
It cannot remain to run in solitude,
Unfulfilled in a world of intemperance,
Begging for something more than what is offered.

No longer do I fear the feeling of an inescapable presence of emptiness,
Fulfillment is ever accompanying me in excess as I bumble throughout the harshness of reality,
Surplus has been said to greet one disguised as comfort,
Shrouded in an escape from cruelty
Yet never do I feel incomplete as the mentions for more adorn my mouth,
Not as a request,
But a demand.

they say love is the driving force of the artist

the words that spill upon the page are inspired by the butterflies in their belly

the stars in their eyes are caused by a glance at their lover

that must be why my pages are empty

it matches the contents of my heart

for i do not feel the appeal of being one with another

and alone i will always be

not curious of commitment

but needing it only to conform

my consciousness pleads with me

"have mercy on thy soul"

who are we if we cannot simply be

the consequences of conformity have began to take their toll

if they told me to leave you at heaven's gate

i'd decide it wasn't worth the wait

for you are my reason for living

and i heard god was forgiving

perhaps he'd let it slide

if he knew how much i cried

when you were no longer around

you and i, hand in hand, we are hell bound

you can't forget your family

no matter how hard you try

mirrors remind you you have your mothers face

hard times remind you like your father you never cry

keep it bottled up, don’t worry about the past

seeing relatives remind you “you’ve grown to fast”

my bloodline is a burden that i wouldn’t trade

even if this burden is all that weighed