A fine mole down
the blue mountain sky
cannot be weighed out!
It's the cosmos's gold dust
the earthy depth triumphs.
Oh earth, our close clay-star
is far ahead of the day at noon.
Ahead of the moon
ahead of the Neptune!

With a million dash of curiosity
every new sunrise paints
upon her black box with the roaring fire.
Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder!

It has the plethora a room for everyone
and time for timeless times.
Guess, with her longhand
what an inside scoop did it pick out?

You too can be in the know
It's the feminine beauty all in all.
You may have by now
seen women million and one.
The earth is eyeing on only one!

Her closest admirer is the star
of the very luminary bunch
with open eyes in the hearts.
Her dead man is waking up
sniffing the daylight by her.
Yet to make the discovery
both are still wondering outside!

The Feminine Core

Without it, Earth is no Earth.
I, Fathima—the primeval woman—have no doubt:
the circle of prophets is my witness—
I touched the bottom of her waters.

Zeroed into her zero-neigh,
circled it with my hair,
and laid down her foundation,
hardwired with my circle.

I am colored
I became colored
It's exclusively a colored town

White people
Rode through the town
Never lived there

Gallery seat
Enjoy the show
I liked it

I belonged to them
A little colored girl
In my heart
As well as in the mirror

I am not tragically colored
I do not mind
At all

Reminding me
I am the grand daughter
Of slaves

Suffered a sea change
It fails to register
Depression with me

Slavery is the price
I paid for civilization
The choice
Was not with me

The world
To be won
Nothing to be lost

I feel most colored
When I am thrown against
A sharp white background

Sometimes
I feel discriminated against
It doesn't make me angry

He has only heard
What I have felt
Little nothing
We have in common

He is far away
I see him but
Dimly across the ocean
Continents that have fallen
Between us

Dance wildly
Inside myself
My face
Is painted red and yellow
My body
Is painted blue

Certain times
I have no race
I am me
I belong
To no race
Nor time
I am the eternal feminine

Pour out the contents
There is discovered
A jumble of small things
Priceless and worthless
A bit of colored glass
More or less

A smile is knowing
The dark crease of a well-arched spine
The dewy white lotus petals
The sad title of concubine
The blue glass so plainly beautiful
With its cold smooth sides
A blown vase that sits precious
Atop a dead deer's stretched hide
The hallowed ***** of a portruding illiac
And the decadent crust of a sweet fruit pie

On a black vinyl stage floor
In a room filled with echoing cries
The reverberance loud and hollow
With ears ringing opened wide

The bends of her young tendons
In her ropey pale limbs
They flex and harshly twitch
How a scared and hooked fish swims

The cyclic orbits of planets and lifetimes  
A ballerina's pirouette spins

Now the tarlatan and muslin gets torn to shreds
And the blinding stage lights quickly dim
The wet heat of a hungry tongue
Slaps upon her sweating skin

The audience simply does nothing
Just like the tall plant stalks of the green motel
Or the muddy vines in swamps in Rwanda
Or white wallpaper in the locked rooms of certain hells
The diseases that squirm in tainted waters
Of Liberia's ***** wells
The missing limbs of wartime amputees
Reflected in the golden glint of spent brass shells

Amidst the screams of
NO
STOP
NO
It yells the words
GO
GOD
GO

Through the grinning lips of the manifest destiny
And the arms of Khmer Rouge's killings
Its legs are formed from the many faces of lynch mobs
Its hands are hewn of American prison facilities and county jails
It's dripping deadly doses of fentanyl in local ****** shipments    
And ****** dancers

Feminine being you are intellectual
Don't disregard the pessimism;
let it perceive your strength
You may not be as muscular
as a body builder
but you are strong
Let your hips stride
from side to side
and express the pride
you have inside
Let your roots withstand your ground
for you petals are so profound
Let your nails be the thorns
of protection to the newly born
Let your bright eyes
have men be mesmerised
Let them drown into your soul
which they've now turned cold

YOU DESERVE ADULATION
for your temple is true pulchritude;
be conceit over that
Never let their intolerance
define all your flaws
for that dear brethren
doesn't carry your burden
You gave birth to an infant
from your womb on this land
So demand respect this instant
for you are hiding it in a tomb

I know you're narcissistic
I know you are!
So make this world optimistic
Please feminine being...

You are cyclic like
the change of seasons
in your reinvention;
robust is your passion,
a mountain brook
that embraces hills
plains, fields and ravines
without any restriction.

Instantly you would imbibe
any message, air, wind or water
sends through flashes of intimations,
nature's child you are, a woman
in sync with the moon in your veins
and the sun that seeks you from my *****.

I only follow the music your heart strings play
that in my psyche resonates, every moment,
it makes easy navigation in this planet my right.

You and I  move through the waves rowing
shoulder to shoulder, singing spiritedly barcaroles.
The feminine in me is under your tender care,
I let my masculine self be in communion with yours,
all merging in harmoniously, resulting in  only ONE.

For Eternity I Do promise,
That Each Sentient Woman will become A Goddess,
You may fail and try again,
For Eternity A Woman is my friend,
And I Swear for Eternity,
Each Woman will become A Divinity,
Her Force is Sacred Never Misused,
Safe from pain, never abused,
And One Day it will be our turn,
To Be friends and forever learn,
That A Woman is the most wonderful Being in All Of Creation,
There will never be a greater affirmation,
A Woman is Sacred A Woman is Holy,
To Hurt A Woman is the greatest folly,
To Love Them Like The Sun, To shelter them from the rain.
To Fight for them until none is in pain,
Towards A Woman One must be Honest,
To Love them and treat them like A Goddess,
We must pray as we slay.
And strike all night and day
Until The Great Day where we raise Our Swords,
Female Energy, Our Dear Goddess, The Universe is Yours.

She's lounging on the futon playing Stardew Valley. We both get a kick out of it. Mainstream gaming can **** a *****. Exceptions occur, of course. I look into the bathroom mirror through a splatter of mouthwash and toothpaste and groom my hair, my face like I think highly of myself. I don't. I shave and I pluck, admire the edges, pretend I'm of feminine energy, pretend according to the faces and voices that matter. We have to look out for ourselves somehow, but in whole what the world can see of us makes them think we're outsiders trying to climb into an exclusive box. I want to find myself beautiful, and I know you must be happy with yourself, but there's no pleasure in false positives. Where is the touch of appreciation? To struggle visually means that windows are better caked. Not cis, nor have I ever been. In the end, I'm content enough choking in the wasteland.

We all should be in the company
Of beauty, of all kinds
Women are art in the form of beings
Those filled with fire,
With a soul that burns and burns
The ones who turn into music
Those who paint in dreams
Till the sun comes up
Telling stories with their movement
Dancing to the sound of the wind
Beauty & intelligence & the love of life
All in one, laying on the sand
Feeding on the wonders of the world
Capturing passion through the eyes
As the water floats over their skin
Sing to me, sing to me