Broken Pt.2

Im tired of racing towards doors
That swing shut in my face..
Sick of crying out to the 4 winds
That leave me laying broken on
The ground with the slick stain
Of old tears drying on my beaten face..
I am a woman of substance who,
Like the leaves of birch trees
Sway and bend with the passing of
Scented strong breezes…and yet
I am left alone in a crowd of many.

They say that it’s not me, it’s them and I should
Really look and reevaluate my choice of men
And when I take a step back and use my discerning eye..
Trying to cut through and weed out those oh so
Common lies and being told that I am only liked
For the width and diameter of my thighs…and then I’m
Still bombarded with more insanity and more lies..
Put aside like a porcelain doll on the shelf..and you think
I should seek help about my mental health?
You think you can say what you wish and think I don’t matter..
And you telling me my laugh rivals angels and my eyes compete
with the stars in the sky over the brightness over which they scatter..
and that I’m gorgeous and other random bits of fluff..and inside my head
my nose turns up at this basic stuff..but still I’m leaning in..
my inner security guard is screaming..’Please! Are you serious?
It’s not really what you think..mark me, those words are tipped with
Poisonous barbs..and for all you know, he’s been studying Hallmark cards!’

Right.

I am who I am and I do have the right to be wanted and
Seen as someone special..because I see it within me..and no,
This verse is not a self righteous plea, or a sham of me
Hurting and trying to breathe, or me pretending that the pain isn’t
Slowly strangling me..and that the loneliness isn’t crushing and
Barricading me inside of my own abysmal sensibilities…
and is it all because of my so
Called naiveté?
Can it be? My going through these circles and rings of fire
Because I have dreams and unrequited carnal desires..and since
I am not considered ‘beautiful’ it’s okay to knock me about
And hone your skills as a liar?

Really?

And even if I wrote this verse with my breasts out it would make no
Difference..because still I’d be seen as the one who is of no consequence
Not looking for sympathy or words of consolation..no.
I’m just putting on more armor for the rest of my battle’s formations..
And in doing so I place my thoughts into my inner self for
Deeper rumination..

See..

I don’t have people praising me, or who I am, or my talent..
Nor do I have anyone saying that I am gifted..and yes this is my
lot in life and who’s to say that it’s not balanced?
I write because I have nothing else..and when I bleed all over
my paper and keyboard..my mouse and screen, and when I
Giggle silently at the people who look away because my face
Locked in the grimace of agony tends to lean towards the obscene..
(Oh, you can’t stand the sight of blood?)
And while my heart is gasping out its last bits of humanity..I still
Remain that woman who is made of nothing…who means nothing..
That lays in the middle of a rainy street …seen, but always considered
Less than a human being…
But at least I mean something to me..and to me, I am a queen..
Tattered and torn, cracked and bruised..ran over rough shod
And leaking at the seams..but I am still here..and even though I
Bleed..I am a woman..and stronger than I may seem..with tears
Running down my face, nakedly..with my cries crumbling the barriers
Of my inner caverns where I hide my pain..
I am a woman..who doesn’t ask for much, just to be able to breathe
Deeply and learn what it’s like to laugh again…

(c) J.E Nov 2010