Inside a Museum

Dark and lonely
Are the halls of a museum
Silent and still
Is the air in its rooms
Walking around, getting lost
Wondering if I'll ever get out
Looking at paintings
Pondering on photographs
Remembering my reality
It is so far removed
From this motionless perfection
Nothing can be touched
By dirty human fingers
Everything is protected
By invisible barriers
One misstep...
An alarm would ring
Marvelling at the pompous beauty
Of a cultural elitist ideal
Wondering if my own life
Would be considered
Also worthy of such edified praise
A dignified tribute to my life-work
But life cannot be contained
In glass cases
Life cannot be portrayed
In a giant mural painting
Or a collection of a thousand photographs
It is in living
Eating and breathing it all in
It is in walking it out
Standing boldly in the world court
Courageously swearing the whole truth

And Soar

The stubborness inside
Needs to be put aside
Demons must be exorcised
Strengths must be exercised
Destiny is staring straight at you
Don't let the lies fool you
It already has gone on for so long
You know they are wrong
What are you waiting for
Get off the floor and soar

My Dead Friend

The coffin of my dead friend
Lies heavily in my dreams
When I wake thinking
He'll be standing by my bed
I scream that he's not there
I know his body entombed
Is not complete
But malformed by violence
That brought on his last breath
On a tragic night so long ago
His murderer is familiar to me also
Envy poisons his heart
Greed rules his head tyrantly
He sits inside his jail cell
Hopefully with guilt
But if not
At least resentment
His crime destroyed
Not just this man's life
But many others
Even those on the fringes
Of their worlds
It stigmatized him forever

Piece of Paper

A piece of paper
Telling that I am this
But I am not this
I cannot be that woman
Nor can I pretend to
I love masquerades
But I can only
Play them for so long
I would have to give up
This clay mask
And that plastic face
I may appear ugly
Horrid as a whore
But this is
Who I am
A real woman
Not a traditional ideal
Nor a modern goddess
But the woman
That's really me
I wish I could
Tear it apart
But without it
I would be nobody
I would have no identity
Men sealed it
On me
I am to be known
By this
That I did not request
That I did not want