Striped Stockings Monologue

Do I make you feel
out of sorts? Is my flesh
too much for your eyes
to suffer? Do nipples
and buttocks offend you?

I see.

You want me
all covered up,
restricted. Why? How
does my being
who I am affects
your living?

I offend you,
you mean? Well, too bad—
your stupidity insults me
all the time,

but you won’t see me
putting a bra on it.

.
the wee notes…
– Some time ago, someone (and I’m disgusted to say the someone is an educated woman) said that she wore brassieres and clothes that covered her unshaven legs, “out of respect for others. A woman has the freedom to look and be as nasty as she wants. But it would be wrong to make other people suffer her lack of pride.” I remember staring at her pinched expression, and thinking, I hope your self-hatred isn’t contagious. I also felt a bit sorry for her… and a lot sickened by her beliefs.
–  Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

 


“Beautiful Freak in Striped Hose”, by Shelle Kennedy

Under Her Breast

The brilliant, sexy (and extremely modest) witchy woman hosting the Sunday Mini-Challenge: Carpe Jugulum, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, invited everyone to craft a new poem that speaks of their thoughts/feelings on the following Terry Pratchett quote: “Don’t trust the cannibal just ’cos he’s usin’ a knife and fork!” And because I always listen to my delightful self *giggles-infused-cackles*, I accepted the challenge. 😉 Here is my Carpe Jugulum inspired poem. I will also link this piece to Holly’s Vampire’s Day Soirée.

“Under Her Breast”

Every heart fell
for the silver in his tongue,
for a mouth that licked minds
dazed
before sinking teeth into flesh;

every heart
but the one under her breast.

She had tasted
the fakery that oozed
out of the shine in his eyes,
watched him sign contracts
with the blood of shackled sheep,
while sitting on the backs
of the choice-robbed
and the enthralled.

She had wondered
if any of them would ever see
the muck that stuck to his bones,
the worms that rotted the hollows
that should’ve housed a soul;

will they sense the incubus
under the wealth-made halo,
or has he sucked all the marrow
out of their future and wits?

.
The Crimson Messenger, by Kristof Corvinus“The Crimson Messenger”, by Kristof Corvinus