Loveliness of winter

The daily rebirth of light,
rocked me gently awake this morning.
As a silky stream warm Decmber
created sunrise dewon your opaque skin-
I brought you once more into my lungsonce more
and let out my heart.

What of the broken women?

You see them along the highways and back roads,
stumbling through the death march home.

Heels broken, stockings stretched, bodies torn.
With mouths still mummbling
the lightly taken montra of "No"

These are the women
who will instruct their daughters,
how to teach their shoes to whispers.

This piece is in development please reply with some pointers.

"I want to be a writer.",
The seventh grade girl said.
I can be a writer cause I have lots of ideas in my head.
I have a life of experiances most will never see.
I could be a writter because I met the S.W.A.T team when I was seven.
I want to be a writter because he taught me to speak.
I will be a writer like no other seen.
Because I am the writer M.E. me

K hole

He vainly faught to escape the discomfort of the hospital mattress attempting to shed his crawling skin.
"None of that Mr.Cole." said the orderly as he began strapping him the porcelain sheets."
Alas he slipped into the mouth of the abyss where the tile should have been and sang for mercy.

Cover girl heroine

“If beauty is skin deep does ugly go straight to the bone?” she questioned 20 minutes into the therapy session.
“I can’t beat genetics by adopting diuretics. Figures aren’t that slender! Control would be nice but little girls aren’t born knowing to hate their bodies!” her voice shook as she cradled 80lbs.

Messing with imperfection

Little girls where not
born with the knowldge
of how to hate themselves.
So-
we decided to teach them how.

Sanding away their indivuality and
coloring over their inocents,
with dolls and play makeup-
instructing them to paint over their,
prepubestant eyes.
So that with any luck,
we would not have to see the person inside.


"This is what a girl should be"


Apionting Barbie to the possition of God,
our false idol of perfection.
Looking upon them
with the blasfamy of judgment in our eyes
We have tought little girls who crave to be women,
that it is all legs, and and hips,
and cat call,
with double digit weights.

Once they have grown past the point of our control,
they wonder where the self hate comes from.
If they really are strong young women,
or are those teachers who tell them are just patronizing.

Who is to blame?

We have found a way to,
rape the freeodm out of summer dresses.
Produced groups of men who can
and steal womens bousses with knife sharp looks.

Taught our boys to
persocute the first of them
that shows emomtion.

Earased all sighnes of humanity ,
with the same wipe we use,
to remove tears.

"Boys don't cry"

Once their hearts are finally void of emotion.
We send our only sons to fight
for causes they know little of.
While simultainiously ending their funerals,
with a salute from the same things that killed them.

And I ask you,
Who is to blame?

Hopscotch and Gummy worms

I am the case of 64 crayola,
that is always a few hues,
too short.

I am B-I-N-G-O,
put your right arm in,
and you left arm out.

I am the thrilling tranquility,
in the first snow fall,
after a warm December.
Proof of God found in
Green eyes and pink tennis shoes.

I am Ms.Mary Mac running away with little Boy Blue,
over the moon to Candyland.
The strength that never fails at,
carrying you to the top of the slip,
one more time.

I am the voice with in
that forever proclains,
"LET'S PLAY"

Visions of Mia

You sit on a wall,
the only symbol of my vanity,
looking back at me with
disdain.
That most unforgiving Gods.
always mocking my weakness
and presenting my flaw.

I've shed unneeded girth
and purging edible ugliness,
that I have put inside.
Pulled by a tide almost stronger
than faith.
Yet you are still Disgusted.

Hair,
never strong enough.
Ribs,
Not quite sharp enough.
Although my abdomen is forever
contracting.
Fighting to the perfect matel hour glass.

Like my little sisters barbie God.
Translated to human form,
7 feet tall,
39 inch bust,
DD cup
18 inch waist,
33 inch hips.
On 5 foot long legs as stits
balanced on size 4 feet.

I fall short,
while collecting repetion of the reminder,
"Perfection is as sculpture,
it only exists when
there is nothing left to take away"

I will carve until,
"The angel appears"

So again
I come with my measure and scale
craving for an
"I Love You."

green hugs + quarters and salt water= Music

I found music
in the melody of my mothers heart.
And the symphony or my fathers embrace.

In the April of our summer
carried in on singing salt water rifts
of the sea shore.

Music found me
In the crevices of treatment
as I lay worped
and out of tune.

The silky tones of clairty
found me on the 7th day
of offe key breaths
and Alto denial.

I found music,
in the humming of ther
EZ-clean laundry-mat
and the applause of
the quarters in my pocket
on the way.

Music found me,
in the sour apple green
of your eyes
and the honey of your voice
brought sanatas to my mind.

Calling a rose by another name

If I told you I Love You,
would you believe me?

If I used nothing more than,
three simple words,
would it mean anything to you?

What if I where to say,
I know I love you because,
You bring April into my summer.

That the hum of your voice
could gently wake me,
rom any sleep.

That you are,
the muse that fuels myevery action.

If I told you a thousand times a day,
i love you
i love you
i love you
would you accept it as true?

If I where to whisper it in your ear,
through a light sarinade
as you lay sleepily on my chest
with lazy eyes,
and heavy breath,
Falling solftly into a dream,
would you know then?

That I love you.
And could youLove me.

To whom it may concern

I'm not too sure how this is supposed to go.
But there has to be millions of you out there.
I know about your pain.
The pain of never being able to tell the truth a 100%
I know you may think you honesty may exspose weakness.
But someone once told me that in order to find what you need,
You have to venture farther than just the hall outside your room.
Its easier to hate than find something you love,

I do agree with this.

But love is the only thing worth that kind of energy.
It may seem like you are screaming in a room full of people who dont care.
Please know that someone does and they are out there.
You just need to open you eyes and look.
I know it gets hard sometimes,

Like when its 3 am on a wends day
you still have not succeeded in drinking yourself to sleep,
and all you can think about it what went wrong.

Then after a while you decide to just not try,
close your eyes grint your teeth and wait till its over.

But unfortunately you'll fall asleep.
and wake up days months years later
blinded by the lights of an ER.
Having your blood stolen and choking on the
Char cole filled tube in your throat.

Or lost in the darkness of a "not too sure where i am" kind of party.
Looking for your car keys,
Both places where a person should never be.

Explination unnecessary

I want a new kind of love.
Not the flowers and candy,
Teddy bears and dancing
kind of love.

But I need the hold my breath,
until I can breathe you.
Stay up past one thinking of you,
Sleep late the next day,
because I dreamt of you
Kind.

The clasp your hand
Because I cant stand to do otherwise.
Not the hold your hand to maintain my cool
Kind.

Or even the tell you I love you
because you need to hear it.
But the say I love you because my hear
SCREAMS it.
Walk you home in the rain
when I can not refrain from being near you.
Kind of Love.

The I can’t think or speak without-
your name resounding inside my head.
The I can’t sleep without you snoring next to me,
shut off the alarm and lie about the time,
to keep you here a moment longer.
Kind.

Not the Valentine card sending,
but the just because its Wednesday.
The I love you more today than yesterday.
Scratching out X’s and O’s,
Because my words can not express
what heaven only knows.
Kind.

Nothing less than marriage
is good enough.
The I don’t want to grow old together
But spend forever together.

The everything I never knew
I always wanted.
Kind of Love.