PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I do not like the shape of

my face in silhoutte

It is flat, in minor

My lips are lost inside of

this day

it is not a happy day

nor a bad day

It is just another day



I am not pretty.

though I have been pinned down as

a pretty girl

That man had a gun, somewhere

Rock and roll was playing from the trailor

loud, rough drums

it was warm, softer gravel

his voice was calm

i was thankful for that

So he cocked and went bang

bang bang bang

He groaned and cocked some more

So this is what its like,

to have a man

between my uneventful thighs

I layed mute

like a wet noodle

searched for something sharp to

singe through his temple

i forgot about the gun he had,

somewhere

close, i was certain

i was aware of the stories of

the poor girls who had guts

and those guts were spewed out on

the sides of roads or in

country fields like

the one ten feet to the right of me

So I layed still, with no words

I did not flinch

as he lit a cigarette and

gave me the look of brutal war

standing over top of me

inside it just got louder and

I could not hear his silence

but I knew he meant, every word

So this is what its like

to be a woman

to have a man burst inside my

girl-like body

It was the mystery of guns that

hurt worse

I did not want to die with

my pants halfway off

and legs open

like a filthy whore

So I, wet noodle,

learned how to

focus on

stars

and

moons

and off duty cops

people are stripped

bare, down to the flesh

i just joined

the hush hush club

there was nothing else to it.