Identity and Discovery

Who I am(that is....)
as it’s been said once before in the corners of the cloudy mind
one must learn to be apart, and it is so hard to try, but it is in love
the flower bloomed and then it died, can you tell me why?
there was no son, no air, no water to support any growing up
there is close together, and there is blanketing, only the aura must
as it’s been whispered across the halls and in the alleys
the world is full of vipers and of prostitutes
and the difference between good and bad is easy to see
and I know that I am but what are you?
I am your worst nightmare, I am your dreams come true
I am your fantasy, I am your game and it’s a shame
that you can do as you please because I love you
and I whisper in your eyes begging to love the same
I am the damsel in distress, I am the wicked witch of the west
I am your sailor’s siren lore, I am your fairy-tale ending
to the nightmares suffered inside a cage of torturing silence.
Enough, NO! I will not change anymore to try to suit your thinking.
As it’s been whispered in death, as it’s been confided in life
and as trust is amended to create eternal peace
I ask the question "who in the world am I?"
I am who I am, the I am that is _____________________________________

Jupiter’s Wife(1-7/29/06)
There was a mulatto girl I came across once
in a state of mental and physical wanderings
She had a name, but none knew what it was
She had a life, but she never spoke anything
She was known as the girl who never talked
She was always pregnant and barefoot, so it seemed
and yet there was never anyone around to offer help
The woman-child was not even eighteen
and all considered her to be a demon from hell.
her hair was long and wild, flying everywhere
a small pentogram hung around her neck
with her shattered soul as a reminder
that there cannot be any turning back
she who speaks not knows who she is
and hides in the silence armored tower
locked in by the eyes of the village
she who doesn’t talk is a dying flower
succumbing to the succubi
and the many voices in her head
no one hears her loud cries
for help, it’s accepted she’s long dead
and none will even try
the town minister claims as loudly he prays
for her eternal soul, inside is naught
even with his "God" he’s afraid
of the woman-child that won’t talk
at night candles surround her and guide her
ways. She knelt and prayed to the moon
and gave sacrifices to save impending doom
for she was married to the god Jupiter
one day he sent for her, I was there that night
many called it a ritual suicide
but I knew that conclusion was not right
I was there when I heard her voice cry
swearing to forever be his bride
with the only words she could find
She who speaks not spoke and died
the woman-child had given up the fight