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November 02, 2004 - 4:14 p.m.
Rocking on my hands Feet weighted Less my mind Ache and arch, move the e, add an are And I am only, the sum of all my parts Brain buzzing low, The racing sound of dirty mind, slippery hands- Bearing truth of what my mind turns out Churning, Releasing, inaudibly, into pillows Muffling, pillow talk, confessions Rhythmic and truthful I become the girl, A girl, some other girl� And always myself, representing No one and all the people I am Undoing Myself In the tangle of these sheets Oh Jesus, And Pat Parker said it well When she wondered, frustratedly, Why some other fucker always gets the credit for the things a woman has done well. Herself. Well done. Spent.
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