Remembering the Little Things

Apples, Bananas and Bread.
It will only take a minute
Maybe two.
You’ve nodded off again.
Well, it happens every time.
This will only take a minute,
It will be easier if I just run in.

Oh, milk too.
Toothpaste, and tampons.
Fuel savers on speghettios?
Buy one get one?
That sounds good.
Crap, I forgot the toilet paper.
Shoot, I can’t forget the cat food too…

“Hi welcome to ValueMart,
did you find everything ok?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Good lord, I come here every week.
Don’t they remember me?
I would remember me.

“Is it hot enough for ya?”
I look at the time…
Oh my god, I’ve been in here for twenty minutes!

“Thanks, have a great day!”

Oh my god, Oh my god!
What did he say?

You’re still asleep!
Oh my god, you’re still asleep!!
But you're NOT ASLEEP!!!
I thought it would be easier
To just run in…

-Molly

Dimensional Pawns

The bloods do not understand
the intricacies of the other side.
They do not understand
how they are constantly being
watched, waited, and guarded…
The bloods think that this is
life…here…on earth…
But cannot recall their birth
from their own Mother’s womb.

The bloods; they talk…they walk
from room to room
unknowingly moving through
the essential weightless beings
that harbor no time.
No tick tocks of a clock
to track the beings’ breath.

And the bloods;
they fear their own death
because they are too detached to
understand where they are going.
Ignorance fuels their fear.
It is that ignorance that will keep
them here…
in a dimension
with their souls in contention,
chronic distorted direction
of struggling silence.

The bloods; they brood of
violence…
And that is exactly what the
Non-blooded souls want.
The non-blooded souls who linger
hoping for dinner to feed
their very existence.
The non-blooded souls who
answer and pillage for Hades
are whispering in human ears…
whispering revenge
fueling anger from fear
to wreak havoc in the dimension they long for.

The bloods do not understand their roles.
Pawns on a chessboard
of a game being played and waged
between what some may call
Heaven and Hell.
The bloods; they pretend to know this so well.
But they have no way of knowing.
Detached from the Divine for so long
and Moses foresaw this long, long ago.

A Lone Wolf

I don’t enjoy being told
how I should think.
As though my thoughts were offset
to someone else’s patterns.
I am a lone wolf.
I prefer to think my own thoughts.
I prefer to be myself
and not consider how I
should fit into the box.
Corners frighten the hell out of me!
I am much more prone to
hug the curved spaces.
The round places
where the tumbleweeds
rise up and blow
over the lonely road.
I am predisposed
to love the cob-webby path
where no one else will go.
I can’t sit in the squareness
of the pleather upholstered fairness.
I will fidget
like a toddler picking their nose
in preschool.
My soul needs to dance
at exactly the time society says “no”,
then laugh inappropriately.
Whoop loudly in the cubicled silence,
then run mockingly into the forest
that most are unable to see.
Hiding in the decibels
between the green and
mossy stump
covered trees.
That’s where I’ll be.
The lone wolf conversing
with the honeysuckle,
Morel buckles and bees.

A Chrysalis

Heaven’s breezes pulled me in,
under the deep swank of your charm.
There was a feeling of familiar
safeness nestled in your shadow.

            I was content to swallow it down.
            I was content to ingest the razors
            disguised as love’s sweet toxins.

They tasted of passion fruit
on my soul’s forked tongue.
Ah, but I was young,
I fell asleep at the helm.

            Thrashing waves awoke my metamorphosis,
            and the scratchy silk of my cocoon
            threatened to asphyxiate me.

The deep swank of your charm
now clutched my silken strings.
With your knee in the center of my spine,
you tried to strangle the breezes from my wings.

            Ah, but my wings were strong.
            My mature, beautiful wings
            were stronger than you were wrong.

Love’s sweet razors I once ingested,
regurgitated and bladed to
slice my silken strings from your
possessed and vested finger hold.

            Now my own breezes,
            my own sharp, autonomous breezes
            nurture me in the depths of my own shadow.

My soul’s forked tongue will never
utter another forbidden morsel of you.
I am thankful to have grown.

-Molly

Because I Was a Girl

When I was an influential
girl,
all the age of twelve or so
I was told by my own brother
that I could never go to college -
because I was a girl.
I was told that girls
couldn’t do such crazy things.
I was told that girls
aren’t supposed to have dreams
I was told
that girls aren’t allowed goals.
I am elated that I didn’t
believe him.
I am content that he did not
get my goat.
I am thankful
that my own enculturation
does not define
Me.
I will always speak
when I need to.
I will wear my pants,
and caps,
and chaps
and straps if I need them.
I will wear my flannels
and channel every
Woman who wore them before
Me.
I will walk in the muddy puddles
if I do feel so inclined.
I will tackle every single
rung of the girl-forbidden ladder
and I will climb
to the very effort-driven top.
Then I shall wave my daughters up.
We will sit at its peak
perhaps with a cup of tea
and enjoy the view
that I was told I would never see…
      because I was a girl.

-Molly

You
Compartmentalize
Degradize
Hormonalize
Contraceptize
Subordinatize me.
You do the same to
your employees
to your daughters
And mothers
And granddaughters
And stepmothers
And Aunts
And Cousins
And Friends
And co-workers.

You do the same to
Your teachers
Your believers
Your faith followers
Your brothers
    who were born with vaginas.
Those born with wombs.
Those who feed you.
Who have fed you.
Those who have cleaned your wounds.
Those who have wiped your tears.
Those who comforted your fears.

I am not a stair step.
I am not the tread upon the sole
    of your shoe.
Nor is my Uterus a tool
for you to utilize and manipulate
while you hide behind your God.

MY ovaries are not for you
to control.
Your Mother’s fallopian tubes
are not a toy for you to chew on.
Your Sister’s vagina has nothing to do with
    Your faith.

But you insist that they are.
You insist that it must.

You can take a pill,
    at will,
to make your manhood grow
when it was clearly God’s will for it not to.
And your company will pay for
you to have that man-made
boost to your erectile dysfunction.

If Mothers and Daughters,
Sisters and Brothers
     born with vaginas
must follow your God’s will,
then so must you.
No more little blue pills.
No more snip snip
under your manly hills
footed by the company dime.

Let us call a spade a spade,
and erase
The Dividing Line
that you say your God
has obviously drawn.

-Molly