Archive for July, 2015

Strangers don’t approach me in bars,
No one questions me being into cars
And I don’t get harassed on the street.
I don’t get called “ma’am” nearly as much,
And I don’t have to do much convincing my baggers that I can carry my groceries out by myself.
As if longer hair somehow made me weaker.
But didn’t it?
The extra effort just 6 more inches created,
I now designate for putting myself in a good state of mind.
I no longer get heat rash over my ears,
And I look like I’ve got the right number of years under my belt;
No longer do I appear to be underage.
I walk taller because I have no curtain of protein strands to hide behind,
And I don’t mind the lack of those inclined to talk to me;
I find those who are to be more worthwhile.
More likely to smile genuinely rather than out of perceived obligation.
Had I done it sooner, it might have saved me the trouble of dealing with shallow, judgemental people.
And I might have felt more secure in myself sooner.

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Posted: July 7, 2015 in art, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , ,

You find me when I am weakest;
Synced synapses screaming for a cease-fire.
Always “Hey”, always like it’s nothing.
Always when you instinctively know I could use a stiff drink and a night in heels,
Followed by my heels dug into the mattress,
Or my hands on a headboard,
(although, who the hell uses a headboard while giving or getting head?)
You know I am dead-bored
With all these sophomoric,  2-dimensional lives lacking spinal cords.
Even continents away, your manic states indicate when I feel desolate.

And no one calls me “doll” anymore,
Certainly not in the same breath as calling me a “broad”.

As bad as it ever was, it was also that good.

At one time.

Before I could speak, the decision was made
That I would be trained to believe in god.
Their god.
A god whose bestseller book justified slavery, incest, male dominance and mutilation.
The god described as “love”, “savior”, “king”, “father”
“All-knowing”, “all-loving” while all are told he is to be feared.
I was raised to believe that a single lifetime of wrongdoing
Was righteously met with an eternity of torture.
But their god is “loving.”
I was recruited to a cause only days after my birth without my consent.
I was not given a choice.
It was washed away with holy water.

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Posted: July 3, 2015 in art, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

I.
The worst ghosts were once the best people.
They leave and the feelings haunt you.

II.
Did you think I’d change enough, soon enough
To become worthwhile?
I was, once; before I was me.
I regret that it wasn’t for you.
Now I can’t trust those I love
And I can’t love those I trust;
The cute, boring love
Inevitably becomes a hollowed, smiling corpse.

Nothing…
                   ….Fucking nothing…
….Nothing good lasts.