My poetry is cardio.
Heart pounding frantically with my audio,
Verbs spinning frantically; I’m not dizzy though.
Those men drugged and didn’t date me, and suddenly I took on the perception that I deserved to be hazy,
Crazy, right? But the peddle bike I got on kept taking me by your store front, advertising blame and my name on every address.
Confused I began to jest at self, persecuting any chance at happiness, believing I wasn’t the best, otherwise maybe they wouldn’t be shady,
Been a friend instead of a villain, suddenly my superhero’s cape forgot how to fly, and I lay in a ditch yelling why to the sky.
Two legs that work creaked asking if the giants had won. Did I give up? Am I done?
But no, I didn’t deserve that and its wack thinking thoughts of” Yea, that was you”.
“I promise you this” I said to me in the mirror that morning, observing scars and marred hair.
Lines no one crossed , the toll booth was destroyed in the process, and my eyes became pools of questions ..”Why?” I sighed, and put on makeup, steeled up my trigger jacket and zapped away my feelings.
To live like this, quiet ,yet happy seeming smiles that reach hearts yet not irises,
and finally after years of floating quietly, trapping birds in lyrical cages and shredding roses.
Finally I know I didn’t ask to be their voodoo doll. And I can stand up.
There she is, walking down a country road, fro fluidly flowing , creating sonnets in the sound of her footsteps , singing freedom to all who ask.
“You are not a victim” I say, “They simply had no class.”