Tangled Rose

Maybe.

Some nights, Her head falls into the basin of my thighs And our lips come together in ceremony, A holy kiss. Our bodies move in prayer. Our love-a revolution- A ritual of power & vulnerability, an act of worship to being Naked, an ode to being bare.

Rage pulses in my palms, drips from my ears, Kisses my neck, wraps my hips And I shed Red. He loves me... No. He loves me not. It was all a sweet nothing Only as deep as expectation, sensual gratification. Excretion Expression Now, Reflection. My heart beats boldly, still. Reaching for the lesson in the learning And yes, I am burning But this fire is freedom.

Buckets Buckets Buckets Heavy water crashes over me and I fall forward In this bed, I lay my vow to birth & death love & pain here & now

Eye am the flower opening to life. Every sunrise, called to stand And I wake Even when I am tired. Resistance is insane, Unfolding innate Layer by layer, Beckoned into the nectar Of my center. Sometimes I pick my own petals, "Does she love me? Does she love me not?" Pointless inquiries... How can I flower? Without being proud Without being seen Without being true? My existence is Lotus Blossom breathing sunlight, Floating in muddy waters. I am growing Freedom A cosmic photosynthesis Created through the alchemy of my roots and the light Of the heavens. Eye am Grounded And open To a sky of dreams, Impossible and unforeseen.

Inanna was the Sumerian Queen of Heaven. She was a mother and a wife, the goddess of love, fertility, and warfare. One day, Inanna is called to visit the Underworld, though her reasoning for the visit is unclear. Inanna dresses in elaborate jewels and protective armor for her journey, pounding arrogantly on the gate of the the dark world. There are many gates leading to the Underworld and at each one, the gatekeeper strips Inanna of one of her garments or jewels, to which she loudly protests. “What is the meaning of this? I am a queen and a mother and a goddess and I need my things!” In spite of Inanna’s commotion, she is stripped naked by the time she goes through the last gate. Unable to go back home, Inanna must face the Underworld, naked and alone. The doctor says I have something I can’t fix. And there’s no good reason why. I am a woman of gold, being stripped of her jewels. I am a lady of heaven, sent into an underworld that I cannot prepare for. What is the meaning of this?

Ekphrastic poem in response to Girls on the Jetty Lila tells me she is sick of feeling this way, like a rock sunken into the floor of the sea. Under heavy waters, the fish pass above her, shiny and purposeful, flowing, unscathed. I do not tell her, but I am sick of it too, not of my feeling, but of Lila’s. She is an angel, but paints herself dark. With weighted lines, her sadness colors me, pulling me under waters to which I do not belong I am no rock in the bottom of the sea. I am not sunken. (And neither is she)

This poem fallows the breeze,
 but the spirit of its notes are dignified 
 substantial hips with graceful tune,
 monumental and ageless
 as the sky and its forever blue.
 Infinite and profound 
like a baby’s first kick to the womb
 or a guitar being strummed in just the right way, a lawful harmony. This poem wants to be easy in saving your life and piecing you whole, but tough since winter gets cold. It’s best to wear layers. This poem is compassionate bravado but humbly replete,
 like petals bowing to the sunset, Perfect and sweet. This poem wants to be endless, brilliant, unapologetic, free. But if it can’t be that, 
then it will just be.

This poem wants to be easy, but not something to be dismissed. Heavy in the hips but graceful, and big and ageless as the sky and its color blue, Infinite. But profound, like a baby’s first kick to the womb boom boom or a guitar being strummed in just the right way You know, that way that buzzes your ears and tingles your toes. This poem wants to be easy in saving your life and piecing you whole, But tough because winners don’t always get gold. Compassionate, Yet daring. Humble, but replete, like petals bowing to the sunset. This poem wants to be easy, brilliant, unapologetically free But if it can’t be that, then it will Just Be.

Because "hey" doesn't seem to take up enough time when passing your co-worker in the hallway. Because you finally got to the front of the checkout line and the cashier asks as she's looking down at the code on your organic apples so you say it back to be polite, even though she hasn't looked at you once even though you know she doesn't care even though you both expect the same answer. Because you know if you don't say it first, that guy in your chemistry class will say "what's up?" and you never know how to respond to that, except for an awkward "nothin' much" or "the sky", which is just dumb Because it's the way to acknowledge someone without acknowledging them at all. So you wonder what would happen if you answered this question truthfully. If when the waitress asked, you told her that your husband was out of town how he's your only real friend how you wish you had more but friends, real ones aren't so easy to make these days so you eat alone. Or if you told the lady next to you in yoga that you haven't worn a tank top in awhile and you forgot to shave your armpits how you'd rather not how you want to strangle the women that started this whole hair removal thing how you wish you didn't care what people thought about your armpits how you hope your daughter will be stronger. You wonder what would happen if you only asked when you really wanted to know Like when you gave a five dollar bill to the homeless man on the side of the highway and he said "Thank you...I'm sorry..." with a desperate ocean in his eyes. You smiled your best smile as you rolled the car window up, wanting to know how deep his waters go wishing you could give him more to float upon than a scrap of green paper Like when you looked at your husband this morning as you shared a breakfast burrito, and wondered, quite literally, how he has to come to be, in this life, because his hand fits yours so perfectly because your hands, together, will make your daughter strong.

I wake up in the center of night to think about your hands and what kind they will be the kind that make stories tap drum beats or clap in laughter the kind that hold tight because love never ends or let go because there's always tomorrow. I say to these hands: Be soft, yet firm Wipe tears when they become heavy but catch them low in drought. Come together in prayer. Be present, what unspeakable wonders must await you. My dreams are interrupted to think about yours And how when your hands become hands they will be love poems, blankets, mountains.

Wow, thank you so much. I really appreciate that. I try to be as honest as possible in my writing and I'm glad that you can identify! :)

A Woman's Answer by Adelaide Anne Procter (1825-1864) I will not let you say a Woman's part Must be to give exclusive love alone; Dearest, although I love you so, my heart Answers a thousand claims beside your own. I love — what do I not love? earth and air Find space within my heart, and myriad things You would not deign to heed, are cherished there, And vibrate on its very inmost strings. I love the summer with her ebb and flow Of light, and warmth, and music that have nurst Her tender buds to blossoms ... and you know It was in summer that I saw you first. I love the winter dearly too, ... but then I owe it so much; on a winter's day, Bleak, cold, and stormy, you returned again, When you had been those weary months away. I love the Stars like friends; so many nights I gazed at them, when you were far from me, Till I grew blind with tears ... those far-off lights Could watch you, whom I longed in vain to see. I love the Flowers; happy hours lie Shut up within their petals close and fast: You have forgotten, dear: but they and I Keep every fragment of the golden Past. I love, too, to be loved; all loving praise Seems like a crown upon my Life, — to make It better worth the giving, and to raise Still nearer to your own the heart you take. I love all good and noble souls; — I heard One speak of you but lately, and for days Only to think of it, my soul was stirred In tender memory of such generous praise. I love all those who love you; all who owe Comfort to you: and I can find regret Even for those poorer hearts who once could know, And once could love you, and can now forget. Well, is my heart so narrow — I, who spare Love for all these? Do I not even hold My favourite books in special tender care, And prize them as a miser does his gold? The Poets that you used to read to me While summer twilights faded in the sky; But most of all I think Aurora Leigh, Because — because — do you remember why? Will you be jealous? Did you guess before I loved so many things? — Still you the best: — Dearest, remember that I love you more, Oh, more a thousand times than all the rest!

You see me as kinky halo and chocolate dipped twice, dripping down my earlobes in between my thighs down to the heels turned to honey in my eyes, your coconut cream lovin I've come to recognize as sunflowers in the evening circadian butterflies