Tick Tock

Tick Tock

I hear my

Biological clock

Ticking away

The eggs I have

In short supply.

“Yuh nuh have

A child, yet?”

He looks at me

Like fertile soil

In which to

Plant his seed.

I look at him

As though he is

Trying to plant

A weed in my

Well tended garden.

“Step along,

Young boy,”

“Don't you have

Two, Five, Eight

Kids, brother man?”

“Ew,” are thoughts

That prod the back

Of my tongue, begging

To spring board off

The tip and dive

Into their ear

To swim in the

Gray matter

They call a brain.

And still the clock

Ticks....

Tick Tock

Tick Tock.

Fuck the clock.

Toss it into one

Of those trash disposals,

Let it be reduced

To bits and pieces,

Freeing me of

This prison.

This prison of

Others' expectations

Due to the fact

That I am a woman,

And as such, I must

Breed!

Breed?

Breed?!?

Alas, my entire

Existence, in a

Blink of an eye,

Has been reduced to

A walking womb.

I want to....

Breathe, the inhale,

Exhale kind,

Don't get it twisted.

Then again, I could just

Let time slip away,

Let the clock run out,

Ignore the pity

In people's eyes,

The venom in the

Eyes of overtaxed

Parents, the laments

Of family and strangers

For not letting my genes

Live beyond my body.

Extracting this clock

From my craw and

Breathe. Inhale. Exhale.

Breathe.

Then...

Then I would see a little one,

Be it a floppy headed babe

Or a gangly seven year old

Who has just begun to reason,

And....

And I touch my hand

To my stomach.

And I imagine a

Little me with an

Extra bit of spice.

And...

And I think,

Just maybe,

Just maybe

I could be

Someone's mommy.

Tick Tock

Tick Tock

Tick

Tock.

image credit: Ales Krivec

Shrouded Woman

Oh, shrouded woman,
How beautiful you are.

Yards of cloth
Wrap you being
From head to toe
To finger tips,
No soft flesh exposed.

All is left to
The imagination,
Each curve,
Each line,
Each whisper
Unseen.

Oh, shrouded woman,
How beautiful you are.

Thine treasures
Preserved, kept hidden
From undeserving eyes,
From eyes that would
Perceive everything
And hold them tightly
In forbidden dreams.

The sway of your hips
Whispers promises.
The dip and rise
Of you bosom
And backside
Tempts the sinner
And the saint.

Shrouded you are
But one would never
Deny that you are
Woman.

Woman, you are
Beautiful because
Your beauty is not
Defined by exposed cleavage,
Thighs, stomach and
Dip of your back.

It is defined by
The smile on you face,
The tenderness in you eyes,
The strength of your
Character, and
The unwavering of your
Resolve.

Oh, shrouded woman,
How beautiful you are.
I have come to honour
You as you are.

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