Wednesday, May 24, 2006
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If I am your equal,
then why do you let your eyes slide
over my imperfect-but-salt-scrubbed skin,
my short-but-look-good-in-heels legs,
my natural and understated tan,
my brown, unimposing hair,
regular, almost-white teeth,
long, aimless, but feminine fingers,
my grabbable ass,
the pink, graceful contours of my ever-sensitive brain,
the ageless ebony words that spell out my thoughts,
and the swirling, transparent inevitability that tells me;
these dry, glossless lips will voice a hundred opinions
that you’ll never hear;
these “beautiful eyes” as you called them, dark and ordinary,
will cry countless tears, whose roots you’ll never care to ask about;
these words that I’ve taken the time to write,
will painstakingly try to etch themselves into your
short-term memory, as you read this,
and you’ll scan them, wonder briefly who I wrote this for,
marvel- for barely a second- at my writings,
and then move onto the next exhibit.
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|Reviewed by William DeVault
|Strong, evocative and well-expressed. Very nice.|
|Reviewed by Bourge
|I fail to see why I should miss out on a good night out dancing with my friends, and let those wasters mess up my weekend.
If a guy's an ass, I feel no remorse in letting him know that he has no right touching mine.
|Reviewed by John Bidwell
It is so good to hear of the concept of standards.
Seeking meaningful conversation, friendship, all the time in the world because they are enough...
That can lead somewhere, but only follow if it does.
This is such a great poem for those who can't ever understand it.
Ah, but perhaps a club is a gathering of wasters better avoided?