At Least The Girls In Stories Were

You Always Fed Strays And Bent Down To Talk To The Dogs You Met On The Street, Looking Straight Into Their Eyes As If They Were Old Friends. (maybe They Are, You Said. From Another Life.) You Liked To Go To The Pound And Look At Them. You Tried To Send Them Messages Of Comfort. I Couldn’t Go Because I Started Crying The One Time I Tried. All Those Eyes And The Barks Like Sobs.

It Was Like When We Were Little Kids And We Played Games On The Ivy-covered Hillside In The Backyard. We Were Warriors And Wizards And Angels And High Elves And That Was Our Reality. If Someone Said, Isn’t It Cute, Look At Them Playing, We Would Have Smiled Back, Humoring Them, But It Wasn’t Playing. It Was Transformation. It Was Our Own World. Our Own Rules.

Find The Goddess Inside Yourself Instead Of Looking For The God In Someone Else.

I Will Be Thin And Pure Like A Glass Cup. Empty. Pure As Light. Music. I Move My Hands Over My Body - My Shoulders, My Collarbone, My Rib Cage, My Hip Bones Like Part Of An Animal Skull, My Small Thighs. In The Mirror My Face Is Pale And My Eyes Look Bruised. My Hair Is Pale And Thin And The Light Comes Through. I Could Be A Lot Younger Than Seventeen. I Could Be A Child Still, Untouched.

You Can't Doubt So Much, Psyche