You shove sunflowers into my mouth,

Hoping for words with sugar whiskers and similes of sunshine.

Appear from it like a magician’s hat.

You snatch away my pen thinking

That it will stop me from weaving ink blotted black dreams

And crush my metaphors in the violent hooks of your pride.

You lock me in Xanadu and walk me through the doors of domes,

Telling me not to raise my eyes, because I am a daughter.

I am a daughter, with pistols in her fingers,

In search of lakes where poets went to die.

 I am a doll abandoned by the puppeteer

Seeking refuge in the market mud,

since I refused to dance his song.

I am humpty dumpty, who braid my hair with spiderwebs,

Knowing that the ache of falling is a hidden cry

Kept under pink tongues and vermillion hearts.

I am a street artist who eats fire for living

And sell my mulberry stained soul to a baker,

So that he can feed the dead parrots some fortune cookies.

I am not a pet with your lash on its neck,

licking the meaty breath of your damp underarms.

My limbs don’t worship non-existent shrines

My tongue is not a holy roll in cryptic.

My mouth is a red pillow where his

soft kisses reside, with

the warmth of lily pollen chest and

the trembling of his jade vein touch.

You ask me to forget him, and

Try to rub it out like a poisoned memory

From my milky brain.

You say that is the rule.

So, I hide them under dried leaves and black letters

And pray:

Forgive me for what I am,

May be then I will forgive you

For what I am.

 

 

 

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