I’m bored of moral
Outrage over adult flesh
Given with consent
I’m horrified by
Moral ambivalence when
Consent’s not given
You are blind to both
By choice to avoid your own
Selfish discomfort
Beauty and consent
Power and autono(my)
Voice and choice denied
No more is it yours
To choose which kind of “she” we
Are allowed to be
-a.r.
Painting: Hypocrisy by mirabillisfuture on deviantart.com
My world revolves around nothing
It wobbles and spins like a top
And it’s hard to know truly
‘Cause direction’s unruly
So I snap-turn it before it can stop
-a.r.
photo: Spinning Top by noorieyuri on deviantart
A year of poetry
Seeped into me
It altered my
Anatomy
More slowly
It leaked out of me
And took with it
My sanity
-a.r.
Painting: Because by agnes-cecile
And right now is when
I fold in and let my skin
Fortress me again
-a.r.
Painting: Amelia’s Dream by Olga Brown
This morning
I cannot tell
If these dear birds
Sing their songs
To woo each other
Or
Fling them long
To wound the other
But my toes are cold
So inside I go
Perhaps
It’s just as well
-a.r.
Photograph by Lee Davis
My daughter’s too much
Like me some days there’s no hope
But in each other
-a.r.
Painting: artist and title unknown
I am invaded by change
Old seams are too tight
Once humming zippers
Busting teeth giving fight
I am finding it harder
To squish all of me in
Parts that used to be shameful
Scratching free from within
The one that’s emerging
Craves braver blood than I
So I will let her gorge
Well beyond satisfied
I am finding her vicious
But I’m loving her skin
Hypnotized by her voice
Scars and weapons from him
This year I give birth
Full exposure allowed
I am unleashing my middle
A messy life begins now
-a.r.
Statue: Death of Venus by Roger Reutimann
A reworking of a fluffier poem from a year ago, perhaps it is the time of year, the time of my life, or simply the push and pull that inevitably happens. That poem was authentic then, this poem is authentic now. Who knows what will be authentic in a year from now.
I stared into a dragon’s eye
She focused clear and looked right back
Without a blink, with sulfur stink
Our pupils met and mingled black
We rose and fell both with our breathing
Each jailed beast sizing up the other
Accept the kill, or risk, stay still
Annihilation left to hover
Let gray the scales we’ve tended
Our visceral fires feed but fade
Best not to think, too soon extinct
Two myths together leave the stage
– a.r.
Digital art: Dragon Eye by Aijoku on DeviantART
For my daughter…
I am not a pretty penny
I am the train that runs it flat
I am not a purchased plaything
I am the bored and brutal cat
I am not a novel notch
I am the knife that nicks the post
I am not waiting to be asked
I am the uninviting host
I am not a bawdy bauble
I am the key that locks the case
I am not a pleasant picture
I am the scar that mars the face
I am not “just an” anything
I am as complex as I choose
I am not the flash and sparkle
I am the lit and hissing fuse
-a.r.
Posted because someone I trust told me this was one of their favorite drafts that I had waiting in the wings.
I don’t mind keeping
My seasonal messes
Right there
On the front porch
For everyone’s peeping
While I try to make
Neat piles from chaos
Because I know
Eventually I will create
A narrow pathway
For clearing and carrying
This cyclical stuff
Piece by piece until
The piles are put away
Imperfectly but in their place
Leaving my living space
Open and available
For the next season
And all its new messes
-a.r.
sometimesihatemycat 