I eat dreams and spit out pearls,
Sing fires to sleep and legends awake,
And I always take my time.
The palm trees grow tall, but it is the wind
Who shapes their trunks and leaves;
And I believe women are just so
With men.
It only takes a rhyme, a whisper, and
A sign that Shaheryar’s eyes are closed to
The world’s mad whims, for me to feed him
The sweet, buttercream cake of magic
And possible impossibilities. For he,
The prince without a heart, needs to see
That I need him as much as he needs me.
Diminished IQ's
Lobotomies and genocide,
Little girls all dressed in white,
Virgins for fourteen years,
Whores for forty,
They wear white dresses down the aisle ,
With hearts that are red and burning on fire.
They walk into an institution,
As soon as they spread their legs,
Dancing around high on medication,
Inhaling what's left of the dregs.
What an awful situation,
Nothing will fit,
Their clothes they are not tight enough,
Their dresses they shall slit.
Their I.Q's are diminished,
It takes so long for them to finish.
Mentality they wear on their sleeves,
Gives them nightmares when sleep
And when they dream.
Family that Never Was: Nuclear Family Before 1800 by diddles25, literature
Literature
Family that Never Was: Nuclear Family Before 1800
What should one think when one learns that the past is very different than previously thought? The idea that much of what one thinks that one knows is actually incorrect, it is an odd feeling when that image of one’s heritage and history is challenged. The picture of the nuclear family household as a manifestation of the Industrial Revolution in the nineteenth century sounds perfectly logical to most people; a married couple establishing their own household separately from their extended families and then raising their children with the assistance of friends and neighbors makes sense when taking into account the shift that occurred duri
Dead First Ladies by janne-landet-poetry, literature
Literature
Dead First Ladies
When girls go pull their dresses up,
Life deals the final blow:
That even though you rock the look
You aren't Jackie O,
There, in the field behind the church
The marigolds won't last;
I see these little details never
Noticed in the past.
If he doesn't know what hit him, well
Then I'm not gonna tell,
If he doesn't know that I know, then
He doesn't know me well,
And if I come away from it
With spiders in my hair,
Remind me just how hesitant,
How fumbling his stare,
For the world is made of little things;
The button on my skirt
That I'll pro'ly never see again;
All pleasure and some hurt:
If dead First Ladies blush and turn
sacred synchroncities by sunflowerdaydreams, literature
Literature
sacred synchroncities
i am
under the sun
the blossoming flower
in the twilight of the night
the waves caressing the shoreline
i am the sweet surrender
of the pull of the tides
the pull of Luna
on my body
my soul
the divine Feminine
I am
Yesterdays
I dont usually let myself think of you or my youth
I dont listen to music that I heard with you
I dont favor or savor anything about our generation
I dont reject it, but I also dont ever reflect on it.
When you left I cried until our sons begged me to stop.
I couldnt but did anyway, I never stopped working,
I never gave up or gave in, but I did fall apart.
Gathering myself back up again I failed to pick up some of the pieces.
There are remnants of me scattered over this earth
Bits and pieces that no one ever wanted or had any use for
Little shards that sometime turn up under foot
And
sad girl and angry blue mittens
just standing in the snow
that expression too familiar
for someone I don't know
I've seen her before
drowning kittens in her skinny guts
chickens in a fickle heart
jutting spiky ribs rabid scabby knees
black winding twine
on your slack jawed youth
spitting sparks hissing dark
grinding teeth remain
perfect fury worries flicker fade
running like lacquered flames
slicker splatter pitter patter
all that blood never mattered
to a girl badly battered
4-30-02