Poetry (Why/Because)

Why

Why do I do this?

Why do I trim my nails
when I've got no one to touch
but myself?

Why do I persist in wearing
the elegant necklace,
one strand each (hand-made) of
rose quartz
amethyst
periwinkle blue aventurine,
when it continues
not
to garner the attention,
the recognition,
that I crave?

Why do I stuff my headphones full of
Ani,
Melissa,
Ember,
And the occasional cross-dressing, hetersexual AIDS activist,
So that,
when I sing along,
I'm singing an advertisement for an offer
I
can't make?

/////

Because

Because I'm tired of passing

Because I'm tired of the fact that my clothes
(those, lady-like, feminine things)
confirm everyone's hetersexist assumptions
No matter who I'm standing with.

(I could, I suppose, put my army boots back on,
trade the office-ready, sexy-librarian clothes for
men's shirts and
revolutionary do-rags

Or whatever it is The Girls are wearing these days
to get each others' attention

But then I wouldn't look like me)


Because I'm tired of being reduced to
merely
the ring on my finger, and the
man
on my arm.

Poetry Manifesto (no one's as surprised as me, I promise)

So I was writing, this morning, on my way to work (and then at work, over my break, and so-on), and I noticed that a lot of my poems tend to be centered on answering the question "why?". Why polyamoury, why femininity, why divorce, why not divorce, why anything.

"Why can't you be normal?"

That's the one I tackled today.

I was expecting it to be a fairly angst-ridden, and fairly short, piece about "normal and me" being like oil and water.

Except then I got to thinking about oil and water, crude oil and ocean water, and how Normal = The Status Quo and, well, I got something that was a whole lot different from what I was expecting.

I feel a bit... I feel a bit like I should have been articulating this ten years ago, when I was fresh into university and all the idealism that entails - like either I should have been doing this ten years ago or, conversely, I should have been doing this now (as in: at the age of 28), but that '28' should have been in the late 90s.
I'm not sure why I feel that way, mind you.
<*shrug*>

Anyway. Here it is (it's quite long - that's why it, and the other poem, are behind cuts this time):

( The Poem )

*~*~*~*~*


This was followed, very quickly, by an "oh, bugger - look what I've just written" piece - basically asking myself how I intend to live up to my words.


( The Follow-Up Piece )

*~*~*~*~*


So, there you go.

I submitted those two, plus "Out Loud" and "Love of Literature" (which, untitled, were part of my reaction to "Longing At Least Is Constant", the other day), to dig - an annual poetry 'zine in Toronto.

Later, I shall hunt through my other poems and see what I can find to submit to Bywords. :-)

Whee! :-D (I'm so full of hope, I could pop like a balloon! -- Hopefully, I won't though).


To do tonight:

Eat burgers w/ Paul
Make brownies, soda bread, & pancake mix for our trip this weekend.
Pack for that same trip.

(Gods... I've got two and a half hours...)

wish me luck. :-)

- TTFN,
- Amazon. :-)