A Taste For Flesh...


I am no coat hanger.

I do not flinch, when eyes devour me--

Not for undressing, nor for judgement.

I did not loose my femininity the day I emptied my lunch tray,

and if I fill a void, it is because

I long to feel the ache & pleasure of fullness

Because no man (nor woman) can make me

writhe in ecstasy 

So surely as sucking salt & honey

From between my own two fingers.

I take pleasure in my apetites. 

And it is not emptiness, now, which I armour against.


No. My legs are supple & strong.

My hips are made for hands to hold tight, 

pull & wrap around;

My breasts are heavy & low

To show that I have been well-loved

& well-lost;

FULL, so you can see the many sides of me

I have survived

& the many incarnations I have grown from.


Frida says, "Stupid girls are always trying 

to disappear as revenge."


I say we disappear for approval;

I say they want us to disappear in hopes

we'll never know ourselves.


But I am no coat-hanger. I am no sillouhette

Nor sylphe nor skeleton

For you to hang your shame & lace upon.


And when I wear red lipstick,

It is not for your pleasure.


It is because I was made to start fires & stir my own hunger.


It is a warning

That I am a woman;

that I am taller than sky-scrapers

& wider than the sea;

That burning, red-hot blood pumps

madly through my veins

& I will not disappear

-- not a single inch of me --

to make you feel comfortable.