I’ve only been awake for two hours… I slept late. I’m a lucid dreamer and instead of facing another day of word smacking, I thought I’d give myself some extra time to reside in a place that somehow makes me feel like I have more control over what’s happening around me.

When I woke I up I began playing with a poem that I started a few days ago. It’s about being a Woman in modern times and part of what that means to me. Nothing gets the feminist in me mouthing off like spending time in the USA… a country whose media glorifies plastic people like no other. A place where women have literally had their entire face smashed to pieces and reconstructed (I’m talking to you Ashlee Simpson) so they can be used as a pinup for various media outlets portraying what a young girl should be.

Anyways after I finished the poem I became insanely emotional. (Me? Emotional? Never) I proceeded to blast TLC and dance around the living room. And I had all these crazy thoughts… like… do we really live in a world where Paris Hilton has a television show, an album, a few movies, and a couple of books? What the fuck?

So after I settled down and fired up my blog I realized that yesterday’s entry received three comments! It’s been a few weeks since I’ve sent love out to my readers so I’m sending it now… love love love!!! Nothing repairs my disenchantment with ‘popular “culture”‘ like real people letting me know they feel where I’m coming from :-D!!

And here’s today’s poem… something for the sisters…

a rugged maiden’s tender prompt

Femineity. Precious endowments.
Intuitive kaleidoscope colours
blend under each selected circus tent.
Ring leading different seatings she endures…
Confidence elevates personal gifts.
Beanstalk stretch to your castle in the clouds.
Beneath demands of life is freedom. Drift.
Seize liberation and turn it up loud.
Don’t let a backwards world say who you are.
Determining worth by an implant size.
Fake plastic dames reckon they’re getting far.
Forgetting the rights fight, struggle and cries.
Empowerment through acceptance and love.
Don’t stoop below what we’re finally above.

… you hear that Paris?