we hang here
on the edge
pushing to and fro the strings of manipulation
us, we of womenfolk
who sway in and out
leading and being led
though roads of words
and more so,
of accusations

each one of us
in our breasted vessels
have the ability to appear to be the victim
when really, the lever dropping a flash of silver
is connected to a nod of our head.

Let me assure you, my friend, that you are in the quicksand
of a warped woman’s mind,
and I, sharing her kind
am not fooled by her dramatics and tiresome cries

But while you continue to drown
in tricks as old as the most aged profession,
allow me my space to hate her
and to be angry at you
for being stupid to fall into this trap again.

not all women are the same

here it is again
“that time of year”
where pearls of life and responsibility
weigh more than lead
and hang heavy
from my neck
that was just learning
to hold my head

here it is again
the desperation that hides
under mostly-true-but-not-really lies
the ache of unchecked things on my to-do list
the dissatisfaction of being two sizes too wide
the anger of fake smiles

here it is again
the lack of will to do…anything
knowing it’s a trap
knowing it’s….a sin?
so important is it that i stay busy
that i try to feel alive
never revealing, the chaos that warps inside

how terrible that i should write
admit to myself that “it” is here
and how embarrassing, indeed
that poetry reads like slashes of red
on otherwise perfect skin
why the need to give in to all this emo-ry?

pathetic pathetic pathetic
(this is not a cry)

ideas in a mind are worthless if that’s where they remain
but when it’s written out, it isn’t even the same
the other night in bed
i listened to the rain
and when water from the heavens, smacked kisses into the ground
it sounded like war
like crinkling wax paper
it sounded temporary
and when reading a book
(titled “Darkness is my only companion”)
that offers perspective on a certain affliction
i’d like to believe that this moment too is semi-ordinary
that it’ll end, like the book is bound to do.
that it won’t try to hold my hand
fool me into a friendship
trick me into allowing it to stay
but refusing seduction is never easy
and if this uninvited guest should remain
than i would do best to take my leave

maybe the solution is escaping
and then finding ways of escaping from the escape
perhaps this is why so many opt
for the permanently altered state of being
it is tempting…if one would like to seal their fate
but i have too much of an adventurous spirit in me
still breathing, not dead, yet

everything else, i’m just feigning
i, once in a while, wonder
if i do exhibit class-A acting
or if it’s easier for everyone
to choose to be persuaded
the alternative being, far less appealing

maybe i’m just fooling myself


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