Sunday, February 5, 2012


she seemed such a push over
and too often, she was
she was pushed over here
pushed over there
pushed aside
pushed into subjection

she never wore it well
and perhaps, it was this
that was her true brilliance
i should have noticed
behind the beauty of her eyes

this child of a woman
wasted in the chase
a back drop to brutality

she kept her victories small
her treasure hidden
as orphans often do in self defense
and in so doing
she rose the ranks
and buried the orphan
nearly forgetting

but it was the orphan,
after all,
who knew how to fight
and had known the farce
of respectability
and protocol

i saw this in her, loved her for it
and waited
for the butterfly to emerge
and the wildflowers
to sing her praise

have you ever seen a butterfly emerge?
me neither
but one day she grew wings
from a damn fine set of balls
and finally, now and forever
the wildflowers sing her praise
as so do i, and all the orphans
yet cocooned in cower and fright

i hope one day,
to know her fragrance as she lights on by
and against my face, upon my chest,
i hope to know her soft wings
that taught me of her brilliance
but first, I must grow the balls
that spawn the wings