Poetry

fancifully lucid constructions


Brethren mind where the lord goes
touch it with no angst
as he is a forgiver,
Perhaps I am not

Before I went there I thought
it was of a gone era
things removed from my truth
known only to me
none of the rest matter
they see nothing past a single existence

Where do they go
this thought demands of me
In the times where I ruled
on a high lowliness
Dredging up the false sky
seems so futile
for this time
and a new truth has been found
away from that deception
Can it remove the tax
on my existence
A reminder

Beautiful


Do I want to be beautiful?
is that a burden I desire
Some might say the answer is easy
that beauty is always preferred

If I have to choose which bigots
feign disgust for me
do I want to be mocked for my form
or restricted to a pedestal

for there are always bigots
always restrictions
beauty wouldn't remove hardship
it would only change the burdens
I have to carry

I'm not ugly, per se,
I have a symmetrical face
fair skin, fair hair,
and sky colored eyes

but I'm large, a girth greater than most
my hair is unconventionally cut

Sheet of paper


I know a sheet of paper
with ink softly tinted
can't touch either of you
like my presence,
but it's what the distance gives.

An electric pulse
across hard metal wires
may imitate my voice
and thoughts,

This is more true a connection
to the place inside me
reaching out,

A storybook romance
can't compete with
the harsh desire
one touch will bring,

I see one soft hand
at the corner of my eye,
It reaches to me
more understanding than my own,
connected to the reflection of my sex,
it's own sex.

Beside me is another,

Queen


she runs her house
with a slight of hand
laying out the rules
without making a demand

precise as a clock
beneath a perfect exterior
claims love as her intent
yet makes you feel inferior

she asks to be treated normal
as she pushes you away
how can she be perfect
if your close enough to see

none of the girls stand up to her
when she lays down a decree
who would dare to object to
the girl they all want to be

I see her for what she is
I see beneath her skin
I wish she was the girl on top
the girl who was my friend.

S. Elizebeth Turnquist