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

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.
Two years ago I was posting to Facebook, being all excited about writing and being really weird. Facebook sends me notifications everyday of ‘this day in the past’. This morning I was horrified to see my weird posts from two years ago. Omigosh, all I can say is thank you to WordPress readers who have been reading me for two years. Some of my early WordPress posts have been just as weird. I’m feeling somewhat embarrassed about my over-the-top, clumsy and strange Facebook and blogging posts. That’s the thing about writing and blogging. We start at a certain point, and then we begin to grow. Evolve. It’s interesting and sometimes a bit scary to look back and see how we were then, and how we are now. I started blogging as a challenge. Because I wanted to write. I discovered I love writing. And poetry! Poetry is awesome.

Looking to the future
And it’s secrets untold
Fills me with a fear
And anguish of old
Can I look past the pain
To see something new
Can I forget my regrets
Bidding them all adieu?
My heart fills with love
With sweetness and hope
Miracles start to shine –
My celestial kaleidoscope