the war of two women
Posted: August 9th, 2006, 2:54 am
inside
there were many women
with stockings and red nails and waxed pubic hair in the realm of lace curtains, satin purses, and shady characters
she tried to die
one thousand times only to awaken to the same crude colors of the morning after
when the streams of liquids inside her could be invisable to many
but the molten lava and cracked heart throbbed as mother earth
tickled her high heeled shoes that walked rather indifferently
on places that seethed with spirits of gray indecisive barriers of the heart and soul
do not listen to the voices of the threshing wheat milled in fat mattresses
feathers decend down the staircase, where men lavish the comforts
of lust and drink and trading for what they want
while the women inside die watching waiting for a chance to escape
some they think can go thier way
as long as they have enough money, honey...
oh how the tart like white face scoundrel has embelished the red rouge of the wild west, black hard lines tender her eyes that wear a mask
forlorn and torn and stolen
she leaves the moment that she feels that swollen dangerous tremor of delight, knowing that he will be like the others
she no longer will fight for what she wants
if she could remember what that looks like
he says all the right things
asks her why the tension why the fear
he cries
she says, she wants me dead
the person i am becoming, and the person I was are at war
i dont know what to do about this
i will not go back there, i will not
the indian inside her has grown strong and powerful, her gifts are able to see into the darkness, but she cannot go back to where she came from
poverty of spirit rational reasons for why it might still be ok
the ceremony is still on her with each day
he looks at her and says I love you
she smiles back the tears
he does not really know me she thinks in a snickering rather proud way she backs away
wondering just what the grandmother s are trying to teach her on this night
wrapped in a memory like a shroud imprinted with history and shame
she looks around the room for someone anyone to blame
the woman in her says to the other, you really need to leave
she looks at her straight in the eye and says really i do believe that it is the story that tells itself
i wont leave her until she exposes herself
there were many women
with stockings and red nails and waxed pubic hair in the realm of lace curtains, satin purses, and shady characters
she tried to die
one thousand times only to awaken to the same crude colors of the morning after
when the streams of liquids inside her could be invisable to many
but the molten lava and cracked heart throbbed as mother earth
tickled her high heeled shoes that walked rather indifferently
on places that seethed with spirits of gray indecisive barriers of the heart and soul
do not listen to the voices of the threshing wheat milled in fat mattresses
feathers decend down the staircase, where men lavish the comforts
of lust and drink and trading for what they want
while the women inside die watching waiting for a chance to escape
some they think can go thier way
as long as they have enough money, honey...
oh how the tart like white face scoundrel has embelished the red rouge of the wild west, black hard lines tender her eyes that wear a mask
forlorn and torn and stolen
she leaves the moment that she feels that swollen dangerous tremor of delight, knowing that he will be like the others
she no longer will fight for what she wants
if she could remember what that looks like
he says all the right things
asks her why the tension why the fear
he cries
she says, she wants me dead
the person i am becoming, and the person I was are at war
i dont know what to do about this
i will not go back there, i will not
the indian inside her has grown strong and powerful, her gifts are able to see into the darkness, but she cannot go back to where she came from
poverty of spirit rational reasons for why it might still be ok
the ceremony is still on her with each day
he looks at her and says I love you
she smiles back the tears
he does not really know me she thinks in a snickering rather proud way she backs away
wondering just what the grandmother s are trying to teach her on this night
wrapped in a memory like a shroud imprinted with history and shame
she looks around the room for someone anyone to blame
the woman in her says to the other, you really need to leave
she looks at her straight in the eye and says really i do believe that it is the story that tells itself
i wont leave her until she exposes herself