Sometimes serious

I don't know how my body reacts to my own mind. What was once an action and a cause is now a stream of events that looks like a habit. What was once an action and a cause no longer stand today as individuals that are reasoned by their existence and are enough. This is the time when things change for the worse And you see not only your skin harden some bones stick out some toes dry faster some nails grow slower some energy is lost, but the drying of your errors your fears sticking out innocent choices like mistakes form like inadvertent habits. This is where your neutrality is banished all things that are past are now personality simple trains of thought and seasons rush at the speed of a blur. This is where it is too hard to see whether your errors are from complicating or simplifying things from keeping them light in your eyes or being too serious from compromising too much or being too stuck up from refusing to change or forgetting yourself....

I try to read feminist poetry. A crater of a volcano having no height without depth makes it visibly female. They say. They talk about breasts being the bellies of small upturned sparrows of a woman being the fire of loins merciful and mighty sensual and slight Women - the sisters of mercy making beggars of lovers, and kings of toads I've heard a woman say the only love she has felt is for children and other women and the rest just lust, pity, self-hatred, pity and lust. They said we tied our feet with the lead of love and burnt love in our ovens every night and stitched and pottered about in stuffy homes spending time waiting around bedsheets and detergent and knives. Wrapping and cleansing. It's being able to create another human being they say, that drive your compassion and bigotry your heartache and your poetry they say we have trained love to our walls like ivy branches and that this pain is unwarranted and artificial, and if only there...