I HAVE A STORY TO TELL

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On my toes are rings;
water and sand, gritty pale sand.
I dig deep like a man on top of a woman
and find the shells of dead sea things;
conchs to sing the deadly siren's surf,
cowries to toss between the limbs of silent gods,
oysters splayed open to reveal worthless pearls,
clams torn up to feed empty gullets.
I dig my toes in and unearth treasures.

Between my hips is a whole universe,
with silent stars, a dead moon and stillbirths.
I leave my bras at home now
as they are trays that display nothing.
what is left is the skin of what used to be;
flaccid, lethargic, wobbly appendages
unable to spy the sun for too long.
On my ankles are round beads of special hues;
memories of dances and sweat, a man's paws
around my middle, lifting me up, bringing me down.

On my hands are nails,
yellowed with cigarette smoke,
cracked with old spit and blunt teeth,
chewed and spat away in agony and worry.
Chapped palms rub soft scented powders
on freshly bathed baby buttocks
and try to remember if the nappy pins
are placed upside down or downside up.
I painted them with light once,
i remember, when they still hung limp and soft.

On my head are wisps of former glory;
Little curls and bushes of crinkling grey,
bald spaces like deserts eating savannas,
patches like isles on a wasted sea.
These are the whispers of infernal time saying;
I have seen the sea eat the shore
with wet lips and beautiful songs.
I have seen sons leave and never return,
wrapping mothers in ashes, wreathing fathers
in pipe smoke and liquored rage.

Between my limbs was a universe
and my toes dug treasures from now empty shores.
When i rise with the morning song,
I whisper my name to my empty gums
and i remember me before the sun becomes.
I have weathered several storms
and i have ravaged several strong men.
Look at me well, i have a story to tell.
Oh yes, i swear with these,
these flaccid breasts of mine,
i do have a story to tell.


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Pixabay:Pexels


If you are paying attention, you will notice something about my recent poem and this one. I actually wrote this poem first then i picked the last words of this poem as it was then and used it to craft the previously posted one. In a way they both speak of the same things but while the previous speaks of the girl who is lost in her beauty and has become more or less an object of sexual desire, worship, fantasy, this poem speaks of a woman passed her prime, no longer beautiful, no longer wanted but full with memories and stories of the past.

warpedpoetic, 2019.



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4 comments
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@warpedpoetic Good one.... I love this.... Am a story teller, kindly follow me @haby
Your poem is passing out a good and touching message

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Poetisa warpedpoetic ,Felicitarte quizás seria fresco de mi parte , solo quisiera retener lagrimas para que se queden enjuagando mis ojos ,como delfines que te saludan revolviendo el iris aquí alejandome de tu intensa fotografía como un niño.

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