when you have
nothing
left to give
real love begins
where her anguished hands
embrace your bitter and lonely carcass
gently as when angels' wings
stroked your cheeks
her tears mingle freely with your
old sweat, blood
and solitary thoughts shed
in those final
apocalyptic moments
and your head bows
into her shoulder
with all the
acceptance of everything
you could never
ask her for
thursday morning
(3:34 am)
rebirth yourself
on my living room floor
fetal gestures
shedding origins of sin
not made on your behalf
you've found the muse
behind the succubus
the siren
in the muse
your passivity is unnerving as
my clumsy hands sweep away
your tattered caul
of lyric and poetry
and you shiver
stripped
tired
and with one evocative question
what
happens
now
Manifesto of a Sexy Librarian
"Sexy Librarian."
a name I�ve heard since who knows or cares when.
It�s what you say to yourself when you first gaze on me,
bespectacled, a solemn look upon my face,
at war with the inviting hips and plentiful breasts
you fight the urge to explore.
You�re not sure what to make of me,
this dichotomy of a woman
with the body of a whore and the mind of a terrorist.
I will be trouble, with a capital "T,"
and you don�t care, because I am different,
not a bimbo, chanteuse, or ingenue,
or even a lonely spinster waiting for her Harlequin Romance.
Just someone different�a novelty.
So, you probe the layers. Peer with your magnifier
into the myriad facets of who I am,
those you choose to see, anyway,
Sometimes pleased,
sometimes unpleasantly surprised
by my soft glitter or sharp edges,
that say, "welcome," or "fuck off,"
when my feelings are tested, validated or failed
by your actions or words to my person.
You can�t seem to get past that first impression,
which is,
you think it�s okay,
to screw me at your leisure
and talk to me like I�m one of the guys.
I know your heart is not in this journey we are taking,
only your dick and
your idle curiosity at what you consider me to be:
A gorgeous freak!
But, I 'm not
a freak.
I'm the girl next door.
I 'm the hopeful romantic.
I 'm the would-be wife and mother of some future family,
and I will not be trifled or played!
Like a librarian, I know of many things in life,
many experiences, many people and what they think,
especially, all about you,
who was too busy telling me
about yourself,
and not even listening when I told you,
loudly and clearly,
I am a WOMAN!
I have FEELINGS!
RESPECT them!
When things get difficult,
I say these things,
and you run away from me,
fearful and not understanding you broke a rule,
one I established in the beginning,
and you leave me in the quiet.
What can I do now?
I cannot change WHO I am.
I will not shift my appearance to something
more uniform to your plebian eyes,
and I will not speak lies to comfort you
when we fall into the dark spaces of each other.
I don�t have all the answers,
like the librarian you want me to be.
My heart and soul are not an institution.
But, you will NEVER get another chance,
because you are trapped in the narcissism
your isolation provides.
I feel sorry for you,
and really,
it's a shame.
You see,
I am the woman all you men want.
even if I'm just a "Sexy Librarian."
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