Black, White, Red

You say she says you are black and white.

I say I am full of colour.

Shall I become grey to suit her description,

Or will you become technicolor?

She is right, she knows you well.

Me, I'm full of pain - and pain has all the colours, including the colour passion.

You say passion is good, but you can not know it because you are colour blind; you are black and white, you said she said so.

Being  WOMAN, I am colour; I know that passion is Red.

And now I am Red.

I am  RED.  I am ANGRY.

You see time as linear and you say that we were long ago; do you feel safe in your distance? 

You see yourself apart, but you are not, because a part of you belongs to me.  Is that part of me that belongs to you vital organ or is it limb?  I wonder.

I want that part that belongs amputated and cut away.  Like you I had thought it had died long, long, ago, but I was wrong; it only took one look and it lives again.

Will I die or will I live when you go? Will I become androgynous or will I stay woman, broken and open abuse?

Anyway you look at it, I am damaged goods.

All my love xx

Passion

Today I have decide that you do not belong in my life.

When we met on Wednesday you hinted that you wanted me in your life.  You also said that passion is important.  You said you were happily with another and you started to tell me her anecdotes.  You relaxed and said that a long time has passed since we were. 

You still do not know that I am woman, and woman can not share; time has no measure; numbers are arbitrary.

You show no passion for me, and you can not love her. 

You are prepared to be intimate with me.  You did not say it in so many words, but you kissed me on the lips when you said goodbye.

Did you sleep with others when we were?  I say that I am not jealous; I am woman and I lie to seem brave.

When we parted you said that you had to think and make decisions.

I am not a book that you read and then write one of your meaningless critiques on and make decisions about.  I AM WOMAN.  Anyway, I know that you do not know how to read woman; it's a hard book for you to understand.

So why lie and say that passion is important, or is it that I do not inspire it, so I am unimportant, never were and never will be?

It is just chemistry with you.  You will not be blame for making you do what you say you do not want to do. 

I hope I can stick to my decision, the decision I make with my head.  I do not want to be woman.  It's hurtful.

Ingrained

Dear ex

I have become quite depressed about our chance meeting.

Prior to that, I had hardy thought of you. 

Perhaps my relationship to you is entirely binding, like that of a father, mother or sibling.  No matter how uncomfortable or sad it makes me, and no matter how much I want it not to be in my life, it is a fact of me.  And no matter how long ago that it happened, you are ingrained in me on a cellular level.

I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH IT.

I DO NOT WANT TO BE INAPPROPRIATE.

THE MALAISE I FEEL IS BECOMING QUITE CRUSHING.

I must find an appropriate place for it.

All my love xx

Innocent bystander

What are you up to Mr Man?

I was perfectly fine, minding my own business and out of the blue, you started invading my dreams.  You came in the night and you were tender, gentle and sweet. I felt you; I touched you; I looked into your eyes.  You felt real but you were just a dream; you let me be in my waking time.

And then, not satisfied with being the shadowy  man from the past, you made yourself real.

I had become androgynous, happy and satisfied in my hermaphrodite state.  I was whole, self sufficient.  No part of me was missing; I was father, mother, friend and lover; I needed no one.  I was the nun I have always longed to be.

As well you know, my track record as WOMAN is littered with failure.  Meeting the real you demanded that I become woman again; sensual, vulnerable, needy; all the hurtful things I never want to be.  I am angry about that.

I can not remember the past with my head as you do; it is my body that remembers; every cell resonates with the intense sexuality that is you; a sexuality  that I was sure the menopausal me would never, ever have to long for again. And that, as you may eloquently put it, is not nice, nor lady like.

Dam you, why did you have to do this to me?  Is it your revenge because I left?   Or are you are simply the innocent bystander in all of this, with a life and body that bears no relation to who or what I am. 

Why do I feel compelled to make you see who I am?  Is it because I am woman again and this makes me irrational. 

Please do not judge me; it's simply the way I feel.


All my love xx