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Eminence
My poetry is not me
It is a part of me
That is wild, unexplored and desolate
It is what man with the needle
Calls "unconscious"
My poetry is sweet like the most
Intoxicating substance
It eats me and leaves
Makes me get muscle spasms
In sensitive places
And I as a cannery flutter in its presence
It is the world of sad boys
And girls and death in their
Desired form.
Yet it is formless and personless
Only filled with ravenous tears
Of sadism and violence
In their most subtle form
Sometimes it is warm to me
And tells me to act warm
Nevertheless, it reminds me
Of my ulterior
And makes me numb and leaves me
It is a way to express my
Womanhood
And of every other woman
The only thing with
I know of a woman
Everyone tells a different story
Some of love
Others of anguish
I say 'chronicles of anguish'.
For him who taught me eminence
And died in my heart and stomach.
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