Breaking Balance



The life of a woman precariously teeters

between blissful ignorance and sharp as jagged-bone insanity

with a few brief moments of temporary clarity

that are sometimes so brutal, so ******* harsh,

there is nothing we can do except bake a cake or write poetry

or cry while the Korean woman digs at our cuticles,

(and trust me, she, too, knows the belly burn

of existing in the center of an explosion).



We are objects of desire, martyrdom, all that is holy,

with our red Saturday night smirks and lamb-soft arms

that ache to hold, to lash out, to shield our souls,

yet, silly us, when the roles are up for grabs, we claim greedy,

eager to be the perfect one, the naive one, the forgiver,

the *****, the best friend, the beautiful dreamer

walking the tightrope with a false sense that if we slip,

there will always be someone steady below

ready to catch us if we fall.


 

Don't ask me why I listen to the music to loudly or why I hold secrets,

Or why I might find you beautiful in an ugly light -

it is all so inconsequential while I dangle,

and I want to sleep.

suzzie1107 suzzie1107
22-25, F
Mar 8, 2010