An Ink-Stained Life

When I was Five, I was told boys 'teasing' me meant they liked me. When I Eight, I was told that the little boy pulling my hair and making crude comments about me meant that he wanted me to be his girlfriend. When I was Ten, I started wearing bras, making me a shiny, bright, new object of boy’s and men’s affection. At Twelve, I was told that being a daughter meant that I was supposed to act “lady-like”, to cross my legs, wear pretty clothes, and to “ALWAYS let the boys call you first”. When I was Fourteen, I was called bossy by my peers when the boys were called leaders. At Sixteen, I was worried more about how to cut my hair and which skirt looked nicer rather than the strength of my education. When I was Seventeen, I was more focused on the future I could build with my boyfriend and what our children would look like, rather than what I could build with my aspirations. At Eighteen, I am told to be a lady, but also to not be afraid to “rough it up” with the boys. I am told I sh...

for a girl who begs for a boy to stay will never be a woman who leaves.  - how the hurt becomes the healing oh, silly boy don’t you know her fire burns from whiskey and you could never harm her. for the Devil’s in her shadow and armor guards her heart. - how she’s free of you

Acid in her veins and ice in her glance Lucifer himself cannot bare her wrath. A crown of Ivy and the flute of Pan Anoint her body with enticement and insanity. Serpent-tongue and birdsong words; Wars have been raged for less. Enchantress and Banshee, she is both For Death and Hecate dance at her command. With the body of a vixen and a mind like Hera, Zeus kneels and offers up Olympus. Scents of peony and decay awaken her desire And spout dreams of cliffs and battlefields. Slain concubines and guardians alike, Torches line the path to her tomb where Thick air and fog slumber eternal. Cleopatra alone could not compare, Riches and adoration umatched to The girl who would be a God.

Cupid’s arrow has landed, bullseye.  Listening to your heartbeat, Our rhythms become synchronous. Breathing in the lace in my boudoir, The cherry and vanilla stained on my lips. I have never had that moment before now.  Silent background music to a kiss so grand Yet so utterly simplistic and gentile. My chest rises and falls like waves Drenched under starry skies. Subtle glances and smoking mirrors Are the muse to this moment. Aphrodite could influence no more than the Fire you bring with your fingertips Painting my body with a new shade of red My system warms at your touch,  I quiver at the sound of your breath Enticing and yet so decadent  Your lips beg for release. Water trickles, a sweet river  Of rose and salted bliss.  The sun reflects a striking gold into the room My Adonis, marbled in the bask of light. An ancient beauty, timeless to the ages. Embezzled shadows appear, A candlelight inspiration. Warm breath and silky skin Intertwine in an opposition...

I am a dove. No I don’t mean literally I  mean in a war between the sheets I become a symbol of peace waving my white flag Of surrender to appeal to his compassion. But when my glass heart shattered under the pressure Of his hypocrisy and his broken promises, He scolded me for the mess. Those three words that every girl Wants played on a continuous loop like a broken record Became a Siren pulling me farther out to the depths Of the sea of incompetence, and I drowned in it. I became one with it, taking mountain after mountain  Of deception into my lungs and embracing it.  Emotionally he became a kiddie pool rich with an Infection of the heart, necrotic and terminal. For I became the Mariana Trench, depth and Complexity almost endless.  He could not dive two meters into my ocean Of desire and affection without gasping for an Ounce of relief from my waves.  How does one do that? Bow to a Goddess than forsake her in the  Name of external satisfaction? Perhaps o...