I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.
— Czeslaw Milosz
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot.
— Joni Mitchell
The legacy of womanness is mostly such
that what is decent for us females is
to make ourselves
to some White god-the-father’s image
his rules and often soulless goals
He invokes his peacock prayer. You know, the way a guy gives you the litany of his life’s achievements. He inflates his plumage, tips one brilliant feather after another in your direction. You’re flattered, and admittedly, mildly intrigued. So you fixate on it with him, like listening to a Tarot card reader fascinating you with mystery and promise. And you know you just need to get past this if you’re ever going to engage with a real-er him.
What’s most puzzling when he’s done impressing himself for you is that somehow he usually thinks he knows you. From only a few wide-eyed nods and short breathy giggles, he’s already assumed who-knows-what? is who you are and what you're going to be.
My therapist once kindly explained, His penis wasn’t connected to his heart.
Like trying conversation with someone’s mindless
monologue. The soliloquacious partner leaves
no room for intercourse. Naked
emptiness paved the fierce and fecund
paradise of my sexness
with darkness and distress. Made it
just a parking lot. Nothing left there
for my heart to want.
It’s losing I can’t abide. Beneath
the loneliness and shame, I’m
Anger jackhammers at my hardened
heart and numbed woman
With each bit of black debris that’s freed
I forgive myself. Then him. And
filled with Essences of Stephanie
Though romance and relationship
continue to elude, confuse, and
my heart still dares
to love and
love once more with