Why is there no sign of joy in her voice

 

In silence and with extravagance

   I’ve lived the I can do anything for you

Of wanting and caring, that left

   Not much room for my genuine receiving

 

These were ghosts bruised and battered

   I held of woman, because I could

They would not talk to themselves, but complain

   In a peculiar way known to wounded souls

 

Their strength was white and foamy

   And their tenderness was muted and aloof

   They loved indecisively and with mixed fear

 

I gave myself to them to counteract power-privileges

 

And was surprised to find myself mistreated by them

   And their tinkering of music and harshness

   These victims because easy aggressors

In silence and with confusion I left their laps

 

Their tried up breasts of motherhood

   I’ve lived through a youth of loyalty and devotion

Without much room for pleasure and abandon. 

Reviews

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

"I gave myself to them to counteract power-privileges"--wow...that's a line and a half, is it not? Well, at least I think it is. There is a strong voice in this one; sort of like an epiphany piece with a bit of the "why" thrown in there for added texture and spice. Nicely written.

[Eloha]

Yes this is a peculiar piece itself.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Peculiar is most often better and more pleasing than "expected" or "mundane"