(i)
i rise each
morning,
groggy,
hair disheveled,
squinting
and proceed to make myself
acceptable.
hair,
face,
body -
it may not be
made-up or
perfect
but there is effort,
if only a
bandana or
baseball cap.
i
eat,
sometimes
nutritious,
sugary,
nicotine and
caffeine,
air,
but it’s there, that step,
then
walk out
the
door to face the
day.
(ii)
it is
dark.
all about me
i hear
voices muted.
no one is listening.
i open my
mouth to
scream
and out rushes
silence.
i
cry harder
and for my effort
am ignored.
it is so dark.
(iii)
once upon a time
there was a
belief
that "it" would all work out.
the
prince would whisk
the
heroine away on a
white steed
and live happily ever after.
but who places all hopes of finding life
forever happy
on a
dick?
the
pink and
lace is gone,
replaced by
power-suits
and
rallies.
at least externally;
because we all know
each
little girl
dreams up a
prince.
(iv)
it stings.
it hurts.
i think i have been torn in two by a
machete amateurishly handled.
no one can know.
(v)
a
friend,
boyfriend,
brother,
father,
uncle,
priest,
teacher,
cousin,
doctor,
politician,
neighbor,
stranger, the
person who should have been trusted for being a
human being.
(vi)
one in four
or two in five.
all stats and numbers,
cold hard facts.
no faces, no bodies, no voices
no names.
lined in
charts and
columns and
books
with the same story:
pain.
but what of the other story,
the one no one will tell?
what is the
secret, the quest of
every face, every body, every voice
every name?
the same story,
same quest:
happiness.