This question raps more serious
at some doors
at others the desire
clinks playful
privileged pastime designed to keep wealth
and clergy and class
in tandem with servitude
I have nothing to will
but these children not yet ripped from my cunt
if I am dying
and my lover is all that stands between me
God
destiny and death forever
maybe
what I need is the freedom to choose
who makes what decision for the parts of me
I have loved
all my life
(at least for what holds me as adult)
against the tide of a stipulated method of desire
the flesh of me
has rubbed the grain contrary
without overt blue prints
and few personal accounts
I wear what I choose
most days
my colors blaze blooming
cliche and Caribbean
hibiscus and oranges waft lumninous
from my skirts
scarves
elbows bony with effort I remain slender
a slip of a girl aging graceful
(I fancy myself exquisite
when no one is looking)
under the gaze of an industry obsessed with my body
my pussy
my pussy can provide avenues
for life
my waist thickens
in tribute to what my hips can now do
breasts fall
and fat flexes its muscle
because I lived
and in some versions
the writers will say
I loved
hard
and some will say faster than I should have
some will make movies of lives that had nothing to do with mine
As usual
Meryl Streep will stunning
in another life
we small bits of passion
could be her
talented
sexy
older and able to take aim
at a bunch of straight white men
posing as faggots who should know better
dress me in the right color and I may deign
to speak to myself
if there is not too much cellulite
under those uncomfortable skirts
shoes
sex in this city don't need no goddamned shoes
all you need is some laughter
and a bit of understanding
mix that sensual in
with some firm resistance against the onslaught of men
and what they might say
to a pretty girl in Washington Heights
bruise her
ego after wounded era
threaten her
with your ignorance
dress her in your shame
mask her in the made-up truths of our time
argue love and marriage
and race
gender and class
fold the laws
around the the individual curves of a vision
without community
without history
use the oppressed to perpetuate
cycle and rhythm
repeat
as needed
generation after generation
remove us language and movement
from everything
that mirrors us
pare away
the parts of us we do not care for
pin us
lepidopterist
pretty and lifeless
lay us under your glass
recycle known metaphors
nothing is new
Hallelujah!
repeat
Praise the Lord!
repeat
do not unlearn
lest we forget
the new memory
we have been created