As far as I
could tell,
I was your
pin-up
push down baby,
barbie go lucky,
and the thing
is,
whilst I trudge
through time
like a serpent’s
slow slither
back to the
water,
I’m discovering
through the
strong winds of string theories
and the looking
glass tears,
I am more the
raging phantasm twilight type,
the hurricane
grit girl,
always choosing
to look up
and count the
stars blazing above
instead of
watching heads bobble
with
anticipation of a punch line
which never
comes.
Im ready to
shake it all up,
bounce it all
out,
hips moving in
time with
the thunder
rolling through,
anarchy angel
with bloodstains
on my face,
spitting the
obscene and holy
that birthed the
phoenix after
losing her downy
coat
which covered
the floor
that you could see
before you
to rise from her feathers and ashes
in gory glory,
if you are even
paying attention.
Shady in the
light and leaf,
we, the
overwhelmed third eyes,
hear the
shadows’ howling
because we know
that gruff and
hazardous raven razor feeling,
and up in the
rafters
we slumber and
mix with the lightening.
Hey,
I hear you.
One thought at a
time,
please sir,
take tea and
calm yourself:
change the room
around,
sage and groove
to new tunes,
dance naked
expect for
those hoop
earrings that you dig so much,
sing loud with
the windows open,
make noise,
be heard.
You are
different,
so let yourself
be.
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