Pomp and circumstance don’t take you far when it turns out you’re full of hot air. Poke! Pop! There you go, crashing back to earth. My vote’s on humility.

She holds the part of me
That nobody else can see
Her fist is jailed around my heart
And I’m the prisoner of its need

Scratch your itch
Scratch mine

I, too, have known the metallic clang of silver soup spoon on steel-wrapped bars.

We are equally wrecked, and I do not need a drop of drink to loosen my tongue and un-prise my grasp and concede my bestial organ to your demand.

I dare any
Of the commonly-afflicted to defy
The scour of unseldom piercing sting–
Ever sweeter than it seems.

Resentful capriciousness
Nearly rests
As martyred saints
Into statuesque

I held you too tight
Too long
Dreaming of you
I lost myself

Whimsy merges with melancholy to evoke the spectrum of conflicting emotions, as explored through Bee Queen’s artworks: dark-themed tableaux reflecting glimmers of love-light through a painted lens of hope.

Dummy yum yum tree
Bears mimicked fruit to entice

All that remained of Kitty
Were her teeth marks
On his putrid flesh

I’m silently exclaiming it right now: “Bewp!”

Devil’s advocate:
“Daylight become sinister…
Or evening’s debut?”

Self-pity is a city; lullabies, its slums. I traded love for nihilism, and lest ye be judged, consistently succumbed to the weakness in my blood, a defiance of Sabbaths, embrace of cynicism and language shared by tragic figures. I tolerated psalms and parables as justification for terrible deeds as you took your scissor hymns to […] […]

What might I tell the girl complicit in her own suffering?

Outwardly health-conscious girl secretly binge-eats Thin Mints while listening to Natalie Imbruglia. Relatable.

Your lips can’t lie when they form my name

I’m on the prowl again
As the lights grow dim
Seems like five years
Since I’ve given in to sin

Taken for granted
Devalued education
Abused the system

Hands all in
Don’t play with me

Car-chased by
A chariot on fire
Yanked wingless
From the sky

Vanity’s revenge
Swallow hard to quench the want
Does it taste as sweet?

Free will, Muse keeps close
(Not your sculpted possession)
Her own masterpiece

(Amrita Sher-Gil (Indian painter) 1913 – 1941 Tribal Women, 1938) ‘Othering’ is the process of viewing or treating a person or group of people as intrinsically different from and alien to yourself. It may be ascribed to the historical treatment of Western women artists (as discussed in the previous blog post) by the male-run art […] […]