Wednesday 11/29/2006 12:31:00 AM

I was over as myself as anyone alive could be. He was under. In molesting jabs that made me feel more a child than a woman. Not that I really knew how it felt. Being a woman per se. Long dresses that sweep the floor in graceful gasps. Pointed heels echoing each stride in a rhythm so suffocatingly syncopated. Just things I'd seen on the television. Images conjured in my head by storybooks. And other lies I was conditioned to believe.

The little girl in her sundress still giggling somewhere under the creases of this burlap I call my skin. The child with a face of clay. Spinning in vain for fingers that never feel. But change her with the slightest touch.

2 comments:
Travis Morgan said...

It's amazing how I can relate to this in my own way. I like how you wrote this, it sounds as if I could hear your thoughts and feel how you feel. Very revealing, yet at the same time, not.

alcoholic poet said...

thanx.

i'm not really much of a 'girl'. so when i write about that aspect of myself it's like describing someone else.

maybe that process somehow makes it relatable for guys.



| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.