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Be a Lady (Exploring what lies behind a poem - #1)

Be a lady
Don't write about craving
Don't write about desire
Don't write about lust

You look at yourself in the mirror and you remember your mother, not the reflected image, you swim,you exercise, still... the words: "My self image is not complying with the reflection in the mirror".  You did not understand it then, you do now. You laugh, you remember your mom. You look at your naked self in the mirror and you try to be nice to the changes of time. You can like what you see at times, but what you see is not what once was. You tell your husband: "if I had a mind like this when I  was twenty I would have left no stone unturned". He smiles. You think of how self-conscious, how mean to your young self you were, how abusive you were to that reflection in the mirror. 

You can still be mean, but you know so much more about yourself now. You write, you undress body and soul and you let the world know it cannot tell you what to feel, what to do. You warn it, loud and clearly:  "Do not tell me not to write about craving, do not tell me not to talk about desire, not to speak about lust. I know more about desire now then that girl from twenty years ago." 

Your  eyes, so aware of beauty,  are filled with tears at the sight of a leaf falling slowly off a tree, swinging back and forth with the wind, touching the ground with a caress. You feel the smoothness of lips touching the skin of your cheek, lips that press it softly, yet firmly, and  one second becomes a minute, of goosebumps and heartbeats. The moment lasts an age and an age is but a second. 


You know more about lust then twenty years ago. The different weighs of a body on top of yours, skins brushing against each other, the different smells, the sweat, the taste of the sweat, like the taste of salt in your body during a day at the beach. You know of the movements, how they can be similar to the butterfly stroke of a perfect swimmer, how they can make you breathless and speechless, how your face can burn and your body happily collapse. Or else, how you can be left  in lonely and quiet despair, craving for what was not, eyes open, sleepless. 


They say you should not talk about those things, you are a mother. They hope you will become invisible as you grow older. They hope. They've told you you would scare men away if you showed them what you think and they tell you,  still, that it would be so much nicer if you just behaved like a lady. You would be so much nicer, they say. But a lady has no craving, a lady needs no lust, a lady should have no desires. And seriously, who wants to be a lady?

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All the faces I've loved

All the faces of men I've loved visit me in the quiet night of my noisy brain All the ones I once loved and came to hate or forget or pretend to have forgotten Lost in the cloud of indifference  I've carefully created
All of them come back  filling the emptiness  of my broken beaten banal heart In this quiet night of my crowded noisy brain
They march firmly towards me
stop and stare Inches away and shoot their questions right between my shortsighted eyes Why? Why not? How much? How little?
They give me no time to answer
They move and vanish like ghosts of the Christmas past Some fierce and revengeful  pass on the judgement they've held in long
You! They shout Too bold! Too coward! Too hot! Too cold! Too little! Too much!
I try to touch a face or another
I remember them Especially the ones I've hidden so well from myself "Hey, look at you!