Untitled

Reflection is good. Hours of conversation- What's wrong. What's right. Stimulating, to make the wheels Churn inside your head. Intellectual- Ponderous- Socrates would weep from my observations. But, I'll move on. Touching is good- The comfort of a hand Along your spine- Or around my waist- Breathing against the back Of my neck. It's warm. It's calming. Angels rest upon our shoulders. But, I'll move on. It all comes down to this- I only want you to see me As a woman. To know I have the power- for you to want me. To know you are fascinated By my contrast To you. Conversation cannot compare to the curve of my leg- or the softness of me. And I pray that there be Just one shred of femininity inside this shell- For you to see me- As a woman. Perhaps I secretly desire For you to worship me- In some small way- Worship what I am. Worship what I have. Worship the fact that I am here- And I love you. I question my power- Do I have an allure? Do you notice when I change my hair? Wear something provacative In the hopes that you might see? Ask myself if this is just simply Who I am- Powerless to show you What I want you to see, That underneath these scars- And this malformed body Lies a woman. And I only hope that you Can see it- See me as I am- Ponderous and Dreamy, Shy and Pessimistic, Lost and afraid. But always- Completely A woman. 2-2-02