The treasures that remain
I played with pots and pans and blonde little dolls
In my fantasy world
As they tried to shelter me from rough games,
Crippling me of the strength I would need
To bear their world’s pain.
I held colorful balloons but never red or black
Red is too strong, and black is taboo
But no one knows why.
I let them fly with a wish, a dream
Of things I cannot do because I am a girl.
I cried with every stumble, as was taught me
tears are a weakness--for boys
but “normal” for girls (am I normally weak?)
I hid the tears of my ‘whys’
On wet pillows, under the blanket
Protecting me with more blackness
I loved and lusted in the dark
Where it harbored the colors of the rain
Reflected in the passion of the sea of life.
There I learned to swim, hold on, let go, say no
to shield and guard what is mine
and that again, so I’m told, is wrong.
So I choose not to tell lest I be damned
for the hundredth time.
I wear dresses, pants, long skirts, short skirts,
Rubber shoes, slippers, stilettos, rags,
No matter. I still get the whistles I deserve.
Because I am a woman.
I tried to choose, few as the choices are
Of which path to take: the forest or the maze of buildings in the city,
To take beer or hard liquor, to drink or not at all
What to do next in the house
Who to sleep with
when the body and the heart
Freezes.
I share my body for love.
It bore fruit. And I get death in the courtroom of moral people
judged by wormed morality and surreal facts.
I give life to mortals, which they say is my purpose
And for the sake of what they think is right
They tell me to save another’s life, as they take away mine
Or suffer the consequence of violating perceived truths
Which never considered my own.
Again, I am wrong.
I cook, I clean, do the laundry
change diapers, feed a human being through my body.
Until dawn, I work, stay single, party all night.
Take care of a family, a lover, a child,
Never mind if I am a child myself.
I am responsible for a people, an office, a company, a world.
I hold the babies, the documents, the laptop,
embracing politics, the sciences, the law, the home,
my baby’s teddy bear and my sanity
Sometimes all at the same time.
We gather and share our stories.
The knowing call it gossip. Yet through the gossips
We share and permit ourselves rage to what we feel.
I choose to untangle the rope they strangle us with
Dig up the strength they tried to bury
And live the life I crafted for my self
Holding whoever’s hand I choose. Wearing my lipstick and
playing my gong,
I will teach my children to hold black and red balloons
seek the guidance of the spirits and the earth
and to never do what does not feel right
and with sisters, look and see the damage done
and search for the treasures among the rubble.
December 2000
In my fantasy world
As they tried to shelter me from rough games,
Crippling me of the strength I would need
To bear their world’s pain.
I held colorful balloons but never red or black
Red is too strong, and black is taboo
But no one knows why.
I let them fly with a wish, a dream
Of things I cannot do because I am a girl.
I cried with every stumble, as was taught me
tears are a weakness--for boys
but “normal” for girls (am I normally weak?)
I hid the tears of my ‘whys’
On wet pillows, under the blanket
Protecting me with more blackness
I loved and lusted in the dark
Where it harbored the colors of the rain
Reflected in the passion of the sea of life.
There I learned to swim, hold on, let go, say no
to shield and guard what is mine
and that again, so I’m told, is wrong.
So I choose not to tell lest I be damned
for the hundredth time.
I wear dresses, pants, long skirts, short skirts,
Rubber shoes, slippers, stilettos, rags,
No matter. I still get the whistles I deserve.
Because I am a woman.
I tried to choose, few as the choices are
Of which path to take: the forest or the maze of buildings in the city,
To take beer or hard liquor, to drink or not at all
What to do next in the house
Who to sleep with
when the body and the heart
Freezes.
I share my body for love.
It bore fruit. And I get death in the courtroom of moral people
judged by wormed morality and surreal facts.
I give life to mortals, which they say is my purpose
And for the sake of what they think is right
They tell me to save another’s life, as they take away mine
Or suffer the consequence of violating perceived truths
Which never considered my own.
Again, I am wrong.
I cook, I clean, do the laundry
change diapers, feed a human being through my body.
Until dawn, I work, stay single, party all night.
Take care of a family, a lover, a child,
Never mind if I am a child myself.
I am responsible for a people, an office, a company, a world.
I hold the babies, the documents, the laptop,
embracing politics, the sciences, the law, the home,
my baby’s teddy bear and my sanity
Sometimes all at the same time.
We gather and share our stories.
The knowing call it gossip. Yet through the gossips
We share and permit ourselves rage to what we feel.
I choose to untangle the rope they strangle us with
Dig up the strength they tried to bury
And live the life I crafted for my self
Holding whoever’s hand I choose. Wearing my lipstick and
playing my gong,
I will teach my children to hold black and red balloons
seek the guidance of the spirits and the earth
and to never do what does not feel right
and with sisters, look and see the damage done
and search for the treasures among the rubble.
December 2000
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