ennia, posts by tag: drafts - LiveJournal

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The stairs look like they've been there forever,
cracked and gray stone winding through the trees
that have sprouted in the large rock.
I feel that I have disturbed something in the shade,
That my scraped knees and ill fitting shorts do not belong
and will never belong in the shadows of rocks and trees
With the whispers of the river and the lake
Softly telling me that this quiet beauty
Is for those I cannot see.

Clawing towards something
Not knowing if you're going up or down
Not seeing a light to catch your bearings
Not understanding the language of currents
Not touching the mysterious goals.
Wondering at what point you should give up;
When reaching for a moving nothing
Is no longer what you need,
But instead to simply quit and
Gently float to the bottom.
All the while, frightened that the world
Flipped since the last time
You stopped struggling to keep up.

The day you first realize that life is unfair
Is the day you first enter the fray
And it is the first day you understand
That fighting back is not something girls do.
And that fairness only matters when you fight
But that you don't have to fight for yourself.

So, as they slowly remove your life, stripping bits
Of your dignity and your rights through neglect
At some point, you realize that you have no choice but to fight
As the people who said they would stand join in confrontation
Gently step back to those who would restrict your speech,
While telling you your time has not come.

When you fight you are called strident,
Shouted down by those who do not value your shouts
And only listen when someone like them speaks for you.
But taking up arms to fight them hurts
And the fighting leaves you beat,
As you insist your voice is legitimate.

But if every word you utter gives another thirst
and reason to start fighting.
While the constant battle rages
Between reality and fantasy;
Reality means the bout continues,
Taking a bit of you with the clouts.

The day you first realize that life is unfair
Is the day you first enter the fray
And it is the first day you understand
That fighting back is not something girls do.
And that fairness only matters when you fight for it.

So, as they slowly remove your life, stripping bits
Of your dignity and your rights through neglect
You realize that you have no choice but to fight
As the people who said they would stand join in confrontation
Gently step back to those who would restrict your very presence.

When you fight you are called strident,
Shouted down by those who do not value your shouts
And only listen when someone like them speaks for you.
But taking up arms to fight them hurts
And the fighting leaves you beat,
As you insist your voice is legitimate.

But if every word you utter gives another thirst
and reason to start fighting.
While the constant battle
Between who you are and who you ought to be
Rages between reality and fantasy
Choosing reality means the bout continues.

My friend says
"Society makes a good scapegoat."
And she is right.
For what else explains
The fear
The self-loathing
The abuse
That I inflict on myself?

If I can blame something
outside of my self,
Why doesn't the blame fall on me
for the choices I made,
Or the lack of choices I had?

And why do I feel
the need to rip open
the scars and scabs
that make up who I am, as if,
despite the many years,
I can drain the poisons from my mind,
Drip by burning drip

I catalog the varieties in my head.
Each drop adding to the index
But not lessening the agony of each.
By knowing what they are,
I might come up with an antidote,
that can't exist without
the drops of dark wine
spilling out of my glass.

Changed lines are in italics.

Draft 3

My lover's hair has waves as the ocean
It slides like water upon the sand
Upon the sheets in an unending motion.
But as she sleeps, the caressing hand
Maneuvering in the waves like a ship
Lost in a vast sea of darkening curls
As if the fingers would begin a trip
Loosening the hair into whirls
Showing the restful curve of her head
Or the line of small gold circlets in her ear
She shifts imperceptibly in the bed
Sighing at my gentle caress nearer
Feeling her breath as a breeze
As it drifts across my own seas.

Changed lines are in italics.

Draft 2.

My lover's hair has waves as the ocean
It slides like water upon the sand
Upon the sheets in an unending motion.
But as she sleeps, the caressing hand
Maneuvering in the waves like a ship
Lost in a vast sea of darkening curls
As if the fingers would begin a trip
Loosening the hair into whirls
Showing the curve of her head
Or the small rings in her ear
She moves slightly in the bed
Sighing at the touch near'r
For feeling her breath as a breeze
As it drifts across my own seas.