I will confess,
it’s a confession
I am not afraid to share,
when I wanted a poem published
for the very first time, I knew what
to do, I took down my hair,
I put on my best I love to
face, and boom,
you got it, I was in the race,
it’s a side affect us pretty
faced girls are born with,
we know, it’s the best
leaning post for those
who want to simply
write us off as cute,
cute, who wants to be cute,
only little puppies
and dolls are cute,
so I did, I wrote
about being
single-ly crazy, all a lie,
wild lace in my bedroom
begging to get out,
it worked, it finally worked,
it went live,
the poem went live,
but oh dear, how to retract
a pretty face, I didn’t
want this to be
my only words seen,
that is how it had always been,
the only thing my life had been,
take the photo back,
okay, well a cute face wasn’t so bad,
I guess, the other day I saw a poem
with two breasts, yes indeed, I guess
someone’s going to learn to read,
although I get hugged plenty for bee’s,
it’s a curse I often dwell in late nights,
wanting to get rid of these,
I guess time is not a replacement
or a reducer, although I do
think it would be kind,
to do this age, if you don’t mind,
you see that’s all they saw too,
even when I was a girl wearing pink shoes,
that is all they saw,
pretty, she’s so pretty,
it made them giddy,
so tell me why it took my face
to make them read,
it must be that ladies
always swell up below the knees
at a certain age, I don’t know,
mine hasn’t, I guess time
will bring me this too,
oh joy, to only be known
as legs, face and breasts,
I continue to cross my legs
in heels though, if it bothers you,
please look, it’s up
to you to wonder what
I carry in them and what it took,
beating on legs and bruises too,
when I was just a teen,
holding bats away from my head
to make them see my
face before they beat it in,
it’s my show groove, my heels,
my soul move in these,
you know I took that picture
out tonight, the pretty picture show,
stared at it a bit,
what a load of bullshit,
truly, I wish my philosophy worked
instead, the face is simply
one part of me that often wears red,
I read Plato, did you ask me this,
I wish you had,
I wonder if I wear my age,
times an equalizer though,
you see Elizabeth Taylor,
there is nothing more to be
said, so my poem will
say what I knew to be true,
nurture your soul
and nurture the you,
a picture’s only a picture,
a face just a face,
if passion isn’t in you
then take leave, go to another place,
I am going to go
now and shampoo my hair,
it’s brown, greyed a little, and I don’t care,
my legs, my body, my sensual side
will always be there, at
mid-age when all my life
I had to be the perfect one,
the fucking pretty one,
with no mistakes
to be made,
I had to make that
get out of poverty grade,
oh I hated the mask,
what an incredible task,
it sucked, wish I could have smoked,
done the crazy wild stuff,
puff puff the magic dragon,
but no the perfect remained, and
still it does, and I want better
than the sky, I want the
saying of yes I am really
not giving a shit about what
you want because,
baby, oh baby,
you know somethin’ I got it
in my chest, in my legs,
because passion doesn’t grieve,
even in the loss,
not when the minds
been replenished,
drinking
on thinking,
winking and thinking,
always will be there,
life’s real share,
you got, love it,
keep it,
and stop holding
from those who told you
not to wear those
shoes, cross those legs
if you got to, do that sensual you,
guess what I dare,
I dare,
I dare,
I am still and will always
be the woman with no make up,
but now, I just might dye
my hair blonde
just because I really don’t
care, I hate grey hair, I love the me in here,
behind the pretty face,
making you all wonder
if she wears lace, like all us ladies do,
but take the time, stop and get to know
us too.
Photo Credit
Veiled Face – Microsoft Office Clipart Collection
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