navigating the murky waters between what you say and what you do
is taxing me as I try to reconcile the disconnect between the two
“Here thar be monsters” the map of you warns
sleeping beauty pricked by a dozen rose thorns
the princes among men your body remembers
burning your fingers like lingering embers
scorching your hands as you climb down and away
from the tall tower where they put you and
expected you to stay
“I’m not proud and I’m not ashamed”
of their lessons in making you tame
but the tales of desperation
slipped out in conversation
reinforced the dislocation
I feel between what you say and what you do
repeating a pre-chewed refrain
adopting false names
to make their sneering disdain
some other lucky girl’s to grin and bear
who am I to hold you up to light and look for cracks?
everytime we point a finger there are three pointing back
how can I ask a consistency from you I myself lack?
because it’s scathing to see my own faults reflected in your eyes
to witness through another the litany of lies
I’ve told myself to get another day by
with fewer heartaches, fewer sighs
and the murky waters between what we say and what we do
where our rickety self esteem bobs along floating us through
dragging its feet behind your boat
your burnt hands aching with every stroke
you found me on the coast
I’ve got a free hand, an extra oar
and if we row row we’ll reach that arcadian shore
where fairies dance, sleep and dream
of a satisfied, dry-eyed you
Copyright © by genderberg.com All Right Reserved.