Picturesque as Postcard

She likes the broken, the little bits

she’s in. Refuse fade to …     define away.  I’ll give you me. There is a reason

for everything.  To say it once, I’ve been sent

~

like the snow to cleanse myself of me.  Words are water

baptizing you new again.  Really the only songs I sing are

~

~

the ones I sing when I think

~

~

that I’m alone.  On closer examination, here are

the components of love.  By ourselves we smile

~

~

rare for months.  The sunset stuns our eyes

of awesome artistry.  Truth be told.

disdainfulbeauty

She likes the broken, the little bits

she’s in. Refuse fade to …     define away.  I’ll give you me. There is a reason

for everything.  To say it once, I’ve been sent

~

like the snow to cleanse myself of me.  Words are water

baptizing you new again.  Really the only songs I sing are

~

~

the ones I sing when I think

~

~

that I’m alone.  On closer examination, here are

the components of love.  By ourselves we smile

~

~

rare for months.  The sunset stuns our eyes

of awesome artistry.  Truth be told.

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Life Sentence

In a world entirely surrounded

by men, the Chica is sentenced

~

to life in a slender frame. Finely sculpted

and sturdy as any body can get, she is

~

rarely appreciated for what she is. To them,

it seems, she is much too small in this world,

~

but not too small to become just object and thing,

smart and dark. Only worth a lick of salt

~

streaking her face clean, but she wants her own free

will, because in this time that begs for questions,

~

she is among the ones in the know, and if she cannot be

with like minds, she needs to be left alone. She is much

~

too small, yet not small enough to accept being silent,

sequestered to a corner of filth that she did not produce.

~

From her bloody fingers she writes on a cinder

block wall: Nowhere do I want to be

~

crooked, unfolding as a mirror of your image

to its fullest perfection. I stand true before you

~

describing myself as a sculpture I’ve observed

close up. Here I am supple: a slow flowing stone

~

to weather the deadly storm.

disdainfulbeauty

In a world entirely surrounded

by men, the Chica is sentenced

~

to life in a slender frame.  Finely sculpted

and sturdy as any body can get, she is

~

rarely appreciated for what she is.  To them,

it seems, she is much too small in this world,

~

but not too small to become just object and thing,

smart and dark.  Only worth a lick of salt

~

streaking her face clean, but she wants her own free

will, because in this time that begs for questions,

~

she is among the ones in the know, and if she cannot be

with like minds, she needs to be left alone.  She is much

~

too small, yet not small enough to accept being silent,

sequestered to a corner of filth that she did not produce.

~

From her bloody fingers she writes on a cinder

block wall:  Nowhere do…

View original post 46 more words

The Wise Rising

via The Wise Rising

Learning the Meaning of Her Name

disdainfulbeauty

There was a little girl—often she pretended

her name was different—who believed words

were her saviors.  She liked to believe they were all

her friends, and thought how wonderful the wealth

of friendship she had in books, especially

the Oxford English Dictionary.  At sight of it

she would smile with delight: words multiplying

daily even, sometimes.  Sometimes, her

eyes would tell her things she could not understand,

so she turned to her friends to help her make sense

of them.  She would flip through the alphabet to see

what solace wait on the white of the page.  She would

take hours gleaning hope from her confidants, as she

told alpha’s and omega’s the story of her

eye’s witness.  The words arranged themselves

like waltzing in period clothing with gentlemen

bowing calling her My Lady.  Tenderly, they would

kiss her hand whispering, this too, my dear,

 

will pass.  When…

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Matilda’s Book of Revelations

disdainfulbeauty

for Justin

I wonder if you really are
a cantankerous son-of-a-bitch. I have

convinced myself that you are amazing,
because I have some sort of

media produced response to stimuli. Maybe,
no theory really

matters, and we are all too dumb-
founded too much to realize that.

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Super Blue Blood Moon

(See you then)

Once in a Blue Moon, the planet

woke up. Each human inhabitant

woke up from the nightmare of pain,

 

of suffering. The planet will breed joy.

Happiness for All is now, so the I’s will have

 

no choice but to smile. Star-

gazers and navel-

gazers are finally

 

seen in the same eclipse. The moon, sun never

set, so the dark before the dawn

is bathed in the Blood Moon…

The Truth Is Here, Now

I am a woman of all

tongues, yet I have

 

but one. I am a person of many

planets, yet I have the cosmos

in my gullet. Galaxies

 

in my glands. I am the Poet

star seed. I am Master 33. I am Ra.