Window shopping often combined
patience, and flipping price tags to find
out what cost too much, or not enough.
And the identifiers on cleaning products
had saved my life on more than one innatentive moment.
Without nutrition guides to remind me
that my thighs are getting wide behind me,
I'd have ballooned at least a decade ago,
since sugar and I were quite the delicious duo.
But a label that has always irked me,
as though it were meant to hurt me,
was the one that could prevent me,
from potentially meeting a kindred spirit,
simply because they did not fit within the margins of my sexuality.
Never one for restrictions, do not prohibit me unless you'll suffer my performance, labels are for soupcans, so why do I need to be butter basic boring?
Taught to love and see beauty in all of the human race, it seemed much simpler to satisfy my carnal desires with men, than to appropriately court our counterparts for a coveted first date.
So, it stayed this way for quite some time,
as I thought I'd silently assumed a side,
until I realized energy, and chemistry meant more to me than body parts outside.
This internal identity crisis induced panic subsided once I embraced the panoramic; why limit myself to appease the rest, when I could be inclusive of every gem that made me sparkle best?
Saturday, February 06, 2021
Panoramic.
Fuego Was Her Name.
favourite finds; a predatory,
poisoned ivy vine, that spreads
like somber hues, and sorry news,
a secret song of sadness,
that snags on softer fabric,
catching it inside its icy-grip,
that tears and rips, like turpentine.
Anger like this, is guillotine,
that races wildly to cause a scene,
enraged by novelty, an offence
much worse than commodity.
And as it melts, to ooze out
from the room, just to retreat.
It swallows the signs, and
all the lights that line the city
streets.
I swear it gets so vibrant bright
and blinding white that you
would think the world had
self-combusted, caught on fire,
taken up pyromania-inspired
admiration.
Scarlet reds then black again,
orange-dead, like ashen dread,
burnt orange, just like the sky
during an atomic bomb,
yellows so bright and stark,
it starts to spark, then white again,
like roasted dust from cigarette butts,
and all the ash is all that remains,
of stories told, and memories of
all the nights we'd ignite, under
the lights that line the city streets.
Aquamarine.
In the water, I am beautiful;
serene, when its sirens sing
me into seabreeze slumber.
But its rage can wreak havoc
that roars then rips through
roads and rocky mountains.
Elemental eloquence, its
ecosystem is a universe of
underwater excellence.
Aquatic artistry is evident in
every detail, from insignificant
algae to blue whales in all their
breathtaking magnificence.
Capable of capsizing acclaimed
ocean liners that could never sink,
or erasing entire continents
whose Atlantean existence still
remain an unsolved mystery to this day.
Poseidon's power knows no limits,
he could be both—the calm, but
also the storm.
Seamonsters, spinning cyclones,
tsunamis, and hurricanes could
just as simply become seashells,
sandcastles or skipping stones.
And in spite of all its splendour,
we must always remember that
no shipwreck or buried treasure
is worth risking the wrath of rivers
or the ocean's unpredictable nature.
Loose Rap.
I wrote you a four page letter,
we've been back, back, and forth, and forth,
I really needed somebody,
and you showed me my worth.
We rocked the boat like
we were one in a million,
and you made me feel like
I was more than a woman.
Hot like fire, when we started,
and our love's still off the charts,
we might need a resolution,
if we can't reach the stars.
You're the one I gave my heart to,
so you better not let me down,
if you can't be the one I can give my all to,
you've got to tell me now so I can bounce.
Are you feelin' me still,
or do we dust ourselves off, and let it go?
Were you just another one hit wonder,
or are you feelin' me, yo?
I can be your babygirl,
you know I'll hold you down,
but if you can't be straight with me,
I've gotta get back on steady ground.