Tagged: women

Suicide

I thought I’d love him forever
so I tried
to never take his harshness personally
then one day
a piece of me died
alongside my friend.
Harshly.

And for the sake
of saving face
bravado entered the room
as my heart moved in a new direction
boldly,
lacking sympathy
and I realized

His heart had wrapped itself
in harshness
and no matter how much
he loved me
(if he’d ever even loved me)
we’d never be what I’d hoped for.

About feminism.

My heart is on the line
confused
somewhere between
the Bible and
bell hooks
it becomes difficult to understand
our priceless history
as women.

To put your dreams on hold
for the sake of family
children
love
is beautiful and brilliant
but may be a sin against God
Himself
(or Herself)
because we weren’t all called
to be wives
mothers
tidy housekeepers
who move with angelic grace
while managing to raise girls who
rebel.

Some of us just might be called
to Run with Wolves.
Some of us even bold enough
to hunt the wolves.

A beautiful, southern girl
whose smile brings sunshine
should not spend each day
of her confused but lovely life
on trial
being judged
because God made her
beautiful and sexy,
but feminine on purpose
with fire in her heart for something different.

To Fall

Once the sun scorched
upon my shoulder
and I adored it
and cherished it so much

And it was delighted.
So delighted
that it painted the sky
the hue of autumn melons

Then I reached
to kiss it
and to love it
and to embrace all of it

And it became a season new
and I stood the calmest still
and shed my leaves

The Embodiment of Imperfection

I am the embodiment of imperfection
often the secondary selection
after others have been disrespected
and mentally molested
by manboys on a quest to
conquer soil.

To conquer what’s already been made dirty
by short shorts and skirts too flirty
coupled with men who don’t value the worthy,
but I can’t tell you which is worse because
I am the embodiment of imperfection

With the ability to provide mental erections
and spiritual suppression
before even considering physical sessions
and vice versa.

That’s why I can’t tell you which is worse.
In midst of praises,
I get cursed.
And thought often secondary,
I’m sometimes first
Without warrant, I’m searched
and researched
Where’s my shirt
and flirty skirt.

 

Red Carnations

He gave me flowers once,
red carnations

to say he loved me
and to say he was sorry
for the women who clouded his mind
while I dreamed of
the forevers we’d spend together.

I think he wanted to love me
and he wanted to treat me right
and I never wanted to let him go
and I wanted him to show up with more flowers.
Perhaps those flowers could remind him that he loved me
and perhaps those flowers could remind me that I loved him
and perhaps our love could pull us through the pain of wandering eyes and insecurities.

Flowers can do that, you know.

That day he gave me flowers
we made love
like before I knew there were other women
like those women didn’t matter
like they were just a phase that he’d grow out of.
That day he gave me flowers
he didn’t seem ashamed
or embarrassed
only proud to have brought happiness back into our love.
That day he gave me flowers
I felt like we could make it past the hurt
and to forever.

Miscarriage

I sat on my bathroom floor
Womb heavy
falling in and out of love

Somewhere between life
and death
Tears marched down my face
like they had some place special to go

The nerve of those tears
Bold
Intentional
With purpose

How many lovers did it take to
get here?