Well I'm back from my hiatus and it's good to FINALLY be back...to torment the boys: Balladeer, Sy and Michael Auguste!

Liaisons

Sometimes the night is so lonely
skin eats away at itself
and has no moisture left for tears.
And when I see lovers make like Fred and Ginger on the screen
I am no longer angry with myself for not being bitter,
I am numb smiles on fake sun
and accept that there is no one
for someone like me.

I’d love to surrender, to be conquered by 'the one'
with my eyes upon closing to a kiss,
though instead I am jilted by his absence,
his ill-fated farewell before we’ve even met.

I used to think that behind every chance
was another chance and another one and another;
I’ve learned that the word 'try' really means failure,
that love can’t reason with reasons
and when all you do is chase an unreachable place
hope doesn’t float, it sinks.

I’ve been everything –
masks and molds and cut-outs of what a man wants me to be
and I am cheapened by my own desperation.
My worth is worthless because I have allowed them to dissect my heart
and stitch it’s beat back into a blue print with smudges and eraser marks
of no objections on my part of never being good enough.

And I taunt with a swing of hips and guard with an unblinking eye
though guaranteeing that the lipstick is red
and my lips stay supple to pucker the true of me goodbye
to catch a guy, hook mouthed, though in control,
my sacrifice - the bait
too late to regain my identity.

I used to have a shallow compliance and pretty face
convinced that my limp war-like stance won their game
of liasons as I danced the strings attached
while waiting for the day to dust off the scissors;
yet I am punished by time for my arrogance,
I am backfired belligerence.
And now all I see are my flaws, the claws that gape at my mind
and the mirrors crash jagged in my regret,
I have fooled no one, and see the ugliness that lies beneath.

You learn to disconnect the feel, attach the real
and finally let go of the fantasy.
And defeat trades in my little black book
forcing the colour to drip a little black dress
for a funeral of dreams
and not enough white paint stripped from picket fences
to conceal the pain of a bride I’ll never be.

I’ve finally grown up, I now know who I am.
Yet, suddenly when you become interesting enough, they’re not interested anymore
because I’ve developed brains instead of larger breasts,
and though the life swell flows fervently from nipples with knowledge, humanity...
that still doesn’t place me on the cover of a magazine.
Suddenly, I am nothing.

By Melissa Long-Monette

"Poetry is not an opinion expressed...
it is a song that rises from a bleeding
wound...or a smiling mouth"

~Kahlil Gibran~

Melissa, you must have left after I came
here. It looks like you were missed very
much, so maybe you should hang around??

I certainly did like your poem and vote
for it to be in the book. But, though
I don't know you, I have to disagree with
some of the content, because you sound
like you are really something....beauty
shines out through your words.  

Heart Hugs,
Ethel

[This message has been edited by garysgirl (03-24-2003 10:03 AM).]

        Karilea - If I whisper, will you listen?...

"and when we get to the pearly gates ...
we'll find what we called our sins were just mistakes."

Tom Kimmel

Melissa I think we are all glad to see you again.....this is great!!!!  It sounds to me you are more ready than ever for the REAL one!!!!  
Bridgette

"Somewhere, somehow, it should be possible to touch someone and never let go again.  To hold someone, not for a moment but forever." Unknown