I am constantly being told
by men
who write
that they will unravel
the mystery of me
That they will put pen
to paper
and draw forth
some real person
out of the chaos before them
and they will sort it into words
and phrases
and turn me real
Name me
like Adam did the beasts of yore
and thus save me
from this mess
They swear this
because men who write
are addicted to drama
Not one has done it yet
They are mistaken
of course
I am not the princess
no manic pixie here
Monster Girl is me
all claws and teeth and bones
and hidden anatomy
Nightmare Girl am I
with my eyes
of earth, sea and sky
no checkboxes can hold
Defiant Girl, forever
my feet planted
shoulder width
arms up
hair back
scarred and scary me
My heart is a furnace
and my soul is the howling void.
Woo! :fuckmittens:
This is quite good, QG.
My guts told me this might be poetry. I'm very glad to see that I happened to be right! HOLY as fuck!
:mittens:
C'est le SQUAM!
It has no name!
It is The Futue!
Unwrit but glamorous
Tentaclamourous
And in fashion
None shall question
Le terrible passion
that is the SQUAM!
There's, to my mild shock, something like this actually to be found on Google
Pic1 would be true SQUAM!-glamor with a bit of punk... note how recent the date is!
The second one is some weird shit about putting an octopus on your head... In soft lighting. .. pseudo- or preferably just FALSE-squam. The difference being in the clear misunderstanding about what it means to "wear the tentacle" to the uninitiated.
That is really good!
Edited version:
I am constantly being told
by men
who write
that they will unravel
the mystery of me
That they will put pen
to paper
and draw forth
some real person
out of the chaos before them
and they will sort it into words
and phrases
and turn me real
Name me
like Adam did the beasts
and thus save me
from this mess
They swear this
because men
who write
cannot leave well enough alone
cannot be simply happy
but chase down beauty
and devote themselves
to hopeless pursuits
desperate for suffering
they can turn
into art
And I am the art
they think
is waiting to be
They are mistaken
of course
I am not the Princess
no Manic Pixie here
Monster Girl is me
all claws and teeth and bones
and hidden anatomy
Nightmare Girl am I
with my eyes
of earth, sea and sky
no checkboxes can hold
Sorcerous Girl, still standing
stronger than the dark
stradling the spaces
between
where witches work
and logic rules
Defiant Girl, forever
my feet planted
shoulder width
arms up
hair back
scarred and scary me
My heart is a furnace
and my soul is the howling void.
Your poem reminds me that one of the things I like about being middle-aged is that, at 45, my body is no longer a template for lonely men to project their fantasies onto.
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on October 08, 2016, 03:51:56 PM
Your poem reminds me that one of the things I like about being middle-aged is that, at 45, my body is no longer a template for lonely men to project their fantasies onto.
I understand more and more as I get older why men prefer young women. The person I used to be thought that bullshit was romantic. She just didn't know any better.
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on October 09, 2016, 03:39:07 AM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on October 08, 2016, 03:51:56 PM
Your poem reminds me that one of the things I like about being middle-aged is that, at 45, my body is no longer a template for lonely men to project their fantasies onto.
I understand more and more as I get older why men prefer young women. The person I used to be thought that bullshit was romantic. She just didn't know any better.
YEP. Fragile, weak-spirited, petty men look for a woman they can control, and that gets less and less likely as we get older.