My readers ask for more.
They want to feel the light
and the darkness I describe
but I cannot bring myself
to dip in glitter
or cut open my gutter
to portray, even for a second
the happiness
or the sadness I have felt.
Separately
and at times
aide by side.
The marriage of pleasure and pain
has ruined my ability to keep from
going insane.
And perhaps it’s the blood I feel
rumbling,
ready to shed from my uterus.
Perhaps it’s the pressure
exuding from my swollen breasts,
physical, merely physical…
Chemical even.
Science.
You mean to tell me you want to experience
being a woman?
You want to know what it feels like
to cry
in desire.
To cry
in desperation.
To scream
in pleasure.
To scream
in pain.
I cannot find words to engrave on paper,
to depict years,
thousands of minutes
of this irrationality
I am trying to decipher myself.
But I know my skin is soft
despite the scars hidden in my memories.
I know my hands are warm
despite your cold shoulder.
And I know.
I know my hair is long and full
because it’s key to confidence.
Under my tresses
I am
Welcoming.
under my tresses
Pleasure and pain roam free
far from your perceptions.
And I’ll tell ‘em
they will never understand.
She
Me
Her
They will never understand
We
Woman.
Right now this is anger
in moments it may very well grow into
Laughter.
I am not crazy.
I am crazed.
Frustrated that they question me
that they expect me
to pour half of who I am
to a world that sadly
will never understand.
© Magnified Reflections 2013
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