A Message

Our self worth,
Like a lost bargain,
Easily made and
easily broken.
Are we to become creations so
remarkable
that not only is the making a lie,
but we ourselves,
even We
aren’t true?

You must wonder with me
After awhile,
how we get back outside
back in the sunlight and the
rain,
to deal with the painful truth that
it’s practically a miracle that there is
anything
of anyone
Left.

I don’t know to whom you are
selling,
or what is your profit.
All I know is I want you to
Stop
selling my name.
I am afraid it is me,
who is seller and
buyer,
hiding behind a back numbed by
Novocain
I administered myself for no gain,
at all.

And you ask me what I think
about being softer and smaller,
if I care
that my lips aren’t plump enough,
my eyes not wide enough,
my nose not petite enough,
my chin not tight enough,
my brows not plucked enough.
You want to know if I’ve “got milk”?
I want to know if you can still make it.

Reaching for time is all I know
and the light
behind the window
is growing dim
with age and
weariness.

The arrival of a plan is
past due
and it is we,
not you
or I
who were to be midwives to this delivery
after all.

Our expectation was no
Accident,
there is no fooling ourselves or
excusing ourselves from the
Responsibility.
I will not rely on those who require
the commitment of others.
The worst kind of thieves,
believing themselves to be
the best kind
of women.