Proclamation

wonderwoman

Pick me swiftly

Lift me with the skill of your own unique art

I don’t care what Art it is

Only that you Own It

Draw me, paint me if you please

But first you have to reach me

And for god’s sake, dear man –

First you have to see me

I have no use for pedestal

I have no use for gutter

I may take on the role of Muse, but I won’t be your mother

Do not call me witch, or I’ll use my Witch on you

Leave me off your labels, and I might let you in my room

Honor What Lives Now in me, don’t make it such a fix-ed thing

I am ever-changing

I am Real

I want to be Felt

I am fleshed out and if you don’t know what I’m talking about

I think it’s best you go

I am so sick of your many projections

“She’s probably, like…”

Like what?

Like something you just made up?

What’s the matter little boy,

Couldn’t ask for directions?

Are you too afraid to Actually Know?

When we get through the requisite highs

The heat that meets in the beginning

Can you handle the requisite lows?

I want to know you have What It Takes

Do you have what it takes?

Do you have what it takes to make it through the wretched and hellish, the dark and demeaning?

To scorch your soles on the burning fire and find The Thing with meaning?

Do you?

Did you hesitate?

Then it might be too late for you

You’ve got to Know

Because I do

I’ve been through it all and back again

Intimate with Soul

As enemy and friend

I know exactly what it takes

To discover, to suffer, to die, to create

I will no longer entertain

The fearful, stuck or weak

The He who cannot honor love

The He who cannot reach

I am reserved for the man who can open his eyes

See me fully and stand in his power

Just as I stand

in mine

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The Broken Thing

obiwan

He hides in books and bitterness

Protests against loving attempts

With an ever-present, I’m not ready for This

His hurt is the hand he uses to push Them away

Meanwhile, inside

He craves and craves

A meaningful Love he shoves swiftly away

Has empty encounters that offer brief pleasures

But those kind of pleasures just evaporate

Afterward, so painfully aware

Of exactly What and How Much is not there

He can’t bear demands or needs or wants

Lays it all on the table at once

This won’t be what you want it to be

Don’t think you’re special

Don’t fall for me

Reverse psychology, They think

Except – um, Oops – he says what He means

That’s the Broken Man speaking

He told me the very same thing

The difference is I listen

I know that road is his to go

Maybe he’ll defeat The Thing inside who speaks

On the other hand

Maybe he’ll just listen…

 

The Puer

puer

He is all good looks and empty promises

Dripping with charm and warmth and dimpled smiles

Hugging everyone

Making you feel so special

But

Something inside him is not quite right

He don’t know that you see it

But you see it —

You won’t get pulled in the way They all do

With his unwavering brown eyes

That Way he looks at you –

Oh, I know – he’s looked That Way at me, too

His game is old

A poor peter pan boy,

Lost

Covered by this outer-seeming confidence

An actor playing a man

You meet his gaze

Wordlessly say —

I see right through you

Move along

I don’t need an actor

But a man

And with that, the puer is on to the next…

Because a real man takes a challenge willingly