
A little seed
Underground
Felt the sun
And began to grow
Roots and stems
And stalks and leaves
The little seed
Became a tree

A little seed
Underground
Felt the sun
And began to grow
Roots and stems
And stalks and leaves
The little seed
Became a tree

I opened up
And shared with you
My secrets fell
Upon the floor
But now it’s past
And we are through
I’ll sweep them up
Till there are no more

I spent hours, minutes, days and years
Waiting for a touch of kindness
Love from you
My waiting is over
The need is gone
Time before me
Is mine to fill

Living in my thoughts all day
Sleeping in my dreams at night
Cocooned in a world of self
Struggling to break free
Perhaps there is something
Wrong with me
But I just want to be
Alone at liberty

Under a canopy of golden leaves
A solitary bench highlights the seclusion
Of lovers past and lovers still to be

Poems and petals
Spread their fragrance all around –
Power in their peace
I’ve changed my blog from Passion Through Poetry to Poems and Petals. Because poetry. And petals.
It’s my BFF’s birthday next week, and I’m considering buying her a perfume. Because a woman is not dressed until she has on perfume. Perfumes react differently on different skins, but needs must, I will have to go with a good, safe choice. Any suggestions? Do you have a favorite? Estée Lauder beautiful? D&G light blue? Chanel coco? Chanel no. 5? (And don’t worry she doesn’t read my blog!)
I went to a single-sex school with all of our teachers being female. I studied a predominantly male course, but all my peers were very respectful towards me. I was never treated like an object. I started work, and the same applied. Perhaps I had very strong boundaries that helped. I would not have tolerated anything less. I dressed modestly, and perhaps my conservativism showed.
Until I reached my mid-thirties, and my babies were born. Something changed. I had a monster of all crushes on someone close by, and knew my conservative attire would not turn any heads. And especially not his. I wanted attention! So I did what I could do. Aka Sandy in Grease. I changed my style. I started wearing more low cut tops. More tight-fitting jeans. And I started to see a reaction. I started getting attention. It was an attention I had never really experienced before. And it felt good. It fed my flesh. I wanted more. The outward appearance started to count. And with it the objectification. I received the attention I wanted. A paradigm-shift happened. Men would wink as they passed by. I started accepting compliments based on my outward appearance. I started lowering my standards. Accepting bad behavior.
All these things came up for me when I heard Michelle Obama, and her watershed speech this past week. I am not an object. My daughter is not an object. Women are not objects. I don’t have a vote in the US elections. But I do have a vote in my own life. I can vote when I hear how perfect my ‘ass’ is in that red dress. When I am objectified. I don’t have to smile and say thank you. I can call it out for what it is. And I can say No.