Wherever did my insides go
away so far with laughing leaves
on turning winds of Autumn air
oh where could my desires be
inside so deep, asleep?
No. They stir
they squirm inside their
circumstantial shackles
hard they push but quietly
In leaves they dare not make a rustle
in the snow they dare not crunch
Lest I wake the bossy world.
I stalk my dreams in camouflage
I track them silently.
I watch them from a shadowed cave
a purgatory's slave.
Sit still my dear and watch these plants
it makes no difference - your dresses or your pants
watch this plant until it shows
you where inside your soul
you lost
your heartache nerves
and chose to be this numb, this scared
and ask how you can be repaired
And get up off your ass and act
with sharpened blades of Self
Just do
what matters to you. If you see
the dance in a song and you want to move,
move
if you see the medicine in movement,
then heal
if you are sick and tired of redundant linear grace
the pirouettes of symmetrical faces
then be the grit. The noise. The mismatched perfection.
Disgrace to us our pigeonholes of women's lines and curves defined
if we accept these roles - these holes - then we are still confined
I spit on billboards hot with exploit
I spit on mini skirts
I shit on all your subjugation, all your secret tabloid worlds.
I shit on all your tampon governments.
Inside
I scream
to be recklessly beautiful
to let my thighs dance free and wild and ripped with muscle
to show the leaves I know their route
from life to yellow flight and forest floor death
Uncurl like ferns and fingers
Ripen like flesh and fruit.
I hurt inside, to love without
rules.
My back aches to bend in arcs
like rose canes drenched in blossoms
Fastened by roots.
But I lack the thorns.
All those eyes of expectation
all those red pens marking
yes or no, good or bad, right or sin.
All those chasing egos on my skin
and ropes of judgment cast.
These artist shackles keep me locked
in bars of iron, barbs of heart. Inside I wait
for freedom's gate.
For safety's key
and fearless walk.
