Compilation Poem for June 18, 2015

(apologies for the mangled lines)

Empty pockets filled her hands
as she searched the curve of her soul
and braced herself for alteration
in this paradise of seer and sage
Almost like another dead man
she wanted to sound
like but never to be like
She felt for the pulse on her neck
wanting to say any word but the end
Nearly a woman, she is just beginning
She waited for God to tell her she can fly
Her pulse fluttered under her fingers like a rare bird
at 3 am on a random Monday
she's awesome enough to be both of us
That's what I heard
Her body is not a metaphor
Her miniskirt was on clearance but she isn't
Don't let them see how you coped
Scars are memories of what you survived
Shallow wounds in each other's skin that never healed
There is no beauty she can't dance with
That she may thrive in an earth not made for her
She wanders and remembers that now she is free
She brought her hand to her jugular vein to see if she was still there
The water flowed like pink lemonade around her shoes
If you read and listen
this poem is rated R
she personifies lies
she's been sneaking into poetry lately
inhale exhale inhale stop
Having writer's block is like dying
(winky face)
Another object in my platonic love affair
they never ask.

Compiled by Marianne Hales Harding from the performances of the Speak For Yourself writers