Go gentle on your soul…

though body writhes in sin

and dross. With grace extol

all kindred hearts within

your own ability

to offer kindness. They

who walk beside you see

both great and small displayed

in beating heart. Wait free

on wonder’s call. Don’t fret

the moment. Charity

will never earn regret

when offered free. Give love

as if its richest stores

are yours to cull. Enough –

is here at hand – no more

required for happiness.

Beyond breath, the only

choice of moment is yes?

or no? to what awaits.

“Put on a shirt! 

You look like a whore!

But undo those buttons dear, modesty is a bore."

"Look at the girl on the magazine cover! Sheʼs beautiful and skinny and everyone loves her. 

But ‘real men’ donʼt want ‘bones’

They want that thick curvy ass. 

Like the one that got made fun of, just after class."

"Contour and highlight and arch those brows, even if you hate it, it will bring a crowd. Wipe that off though, if he says he doesnʼt like it, after all, you're his property, why should you fight it?"

Let me just say, all of that is SHIT! 

I've heard this all my life, and Iʼm sick of it! From classrooms to music and whatʼs on tv, even teachers and principals are too blind to see, it doesnʼt matter what we wear! 

It doesnʼt matter what we do!

Because, we always get put down.

Itʼs nothing new. 

Iʼm a mother and a fiancé

And someoneʼs daughter, I have dreams and aspirations that society wants to slaughter. Iʼm done with the labels and being told what to wear. I am not defined by my bra size or the way I style my hair.

I'll wear a dress,

A tuxedo, or nothing at all. 

If you let it bother you, then hey, thatʼs your call! 

If you donʼt like my size or my clothes thatʼs a matter of opinion but I will do my best to love the body, that I have been given. 

We will never be "asking for it" because our shirts hang down low. Itʼs up to us, how much skin we show.

Do what you want, dress how you please. You are human, you are you. 

Not a "bore" or a "tease”. 

I canʼt get it up tonight,

itʼs not even worth a try.

I search the Internet for inspiration

Still Iʼm limp and wondering why?!

Maybe I need to set the stage,

Light a candle and dim the lights,

Pop a bottle of champagne,

And if I hold it just right!!

Fuck! Nothing, I feel nothing.

This pens not spilling any ink.

Maybe Iʼm out of practice?!?

I shouldnʼt have had that last drink…

One last ditch attempt to please,

Just tell me what you want to hear!

This passions got a hold on me,

It swallows me up and I canʼt think clear!

Iʼm over it, no really I swear, ITS FINE.

Iʼm sure somewhere thereʼs a cure on WebMD!

Tomorrow will be mind blowing I promise!

But tonight, this tank is running on empty.

WAIT! What was that?!

That old familiar sensation…

Creeping from my chest down my legs..

And a sensual temptation…

Finally!

Fuck waiting for things to work,

I've got more than this to offer,

If your secrets are handcuffed and bound in leather,

Then Iʼm their god damn author.

I am four different songs,

Played at the same time.

The angry notes and lullabies,

They are not mine.

Giggles and screams,

Echo down halls,

That do not exist,

Inside their four walls.

I am aware of the madness.

I am aware of the fear.

I must try my best,

Not to let you near.

I am no danger,

But I speak for myself.

If you want the truth,

Ask everyone else.

Part I.

The question is not if you will suffer…

You will

Nor is the question if you'll have loss…

You will

The question is not if you will fail…

You will

The question is:

How will you suffer?

How will you lose?

What will you do when you fail?

Part II.

Will you be among the few

Reduced by heat, reborn a jewel?

Or will you be the frothing dross,

Skimming the surface before itʼs tossed?

If when others laugh at you

You join the laughter, too

And when you suffer no one knows

But you, the stronger onward go

When your nameʼs bee' shattered

You pick up the pieces scattered

And with bloody, broken hands

Pull them together again

With forgiveness suffering long

For those who've done you wrong

Then you my friend will be strong

…You will

You're wet behind your ears,

they need to be cleaned,

you're completely lacking in years,

you're not old enough

to compete with your peers.

Your words are leaky

sputter out of your sieve

and are not complete -

your thoughts drift all over

pull them back to earth.

I stomp on your ideas

reduce them to mush,

scatter them to the wind,

spear you with my pen

and set you on fire

to ignite your words.

I crumble you

into your written phrases,

roll you up in clouds,

throw you down the abyss.

Your fractured idioms

need to be splinted

before they can climb

back up to the rim,

but you can't negotiate

the hovering summit

just out of your reach.

I take your blood

inhale into my pen

and transfuse some of mine

to give you fighting chance.

As you said in your poem,

you tried to fail

but if you succeed

what will you have done?

When you age,

not too gracefully, I assume,

you can try again

to compete

with your superiors.

For now,

you've lost your battle

but can win your war

when you've grown up

to be all you can be!

She,

Who breathes

Your same breath,

In your shared bed,

While you dream of me,

Condemns me: adult'ress.

Though I do not sleep alone,

Your body is only a shell

Which tosses and turns, burdened by guilt,

And i crave to be mistaken for her. 

I will offer my foolish heart

to the moon and stars

walk barefoot over molten rock

slay purple dragons along the way

relinquish control of my thinking abilities

all for the sake of you…

my oh so delicious Haagen Dazs.