"What's wrong with this picture?"
I don't see anything that's w-
-aiting in the background,
ready to come to attention,
breathing steady, and
ready to salute the flag.
Wrong? I'm not sure
what you mean.
I don't seem to be wringing my hands
over this today or searching
for a cause to put them down.
They're shaking, the roads are
soaking wet and they're shaking like
leaves on trees
leaves in wind, in fall
I'm falling in love again
This isn't the season to
shoot them while they're down
this isn't the season, just
put your hands away
before you hurt someone
Mother, I can't breathe this evening.
I'm choking on my own hands and
Eyes blinked out from in the grass.
She ignored them. It wasn't an easy task, she could feel the gaze like a particularly long-legged insect crawling along the back of her neck. She was sure it was even chittering in her ear as she rounded the bend in the road. With only a moderate amount of silent profanity, she reached over and punched the volume dial on the car radio, sending Stevie Nicks blaring through the open windows.
Now you've seen the son of a bitch before, she thought, it's seen you. This isn't anything new. Keep your game face on.
She resisted the urge to look back at the eyes only because she knew the satisfaction the thing
The poet is dead
The janaza will be said
between isha and fajr
is not required
She died with your name
on her lips
and on her fingertips
She died singing the song of her people
and doing what she loved
She died alone
It happened in the midst of battle
a knife to her gut
an axe to her leg
the arrow in her left shoulder
She was swarmed
Her last words were whispered
face down in the snow
was in the north
to the right
to the left
When you live with her
you find her
in the most unexpected
She is in my pantry, tucked between
molding bread and cans that have
been there for years
She hides behind the milk in my refrigerator
She is the brown banana, the flat soda, she is
the half empty bottle of
crema di limoncello
wine turned to vinegar
she is the absinthe that I will
She has a voice and she whispers
I am not alone
when I have her
I find her in my hair
Elastic bands and tangled strands and
a yellow flower tucked behind my ear
She whispers to me. She is the sun.
There are signs in the window
Wilted plants, she's there
I am suspended mid flight
upended above scratched stages and dollar bills
The same song plays again and again
And I am lost without you
We are bodies pressing together in the dark
A kind of second wind for what we'd thought we had
We were kissing like it was never going to end
Like the shadows around us didn't mean a goddamned thing
"How does my soul look?" I asked
Baby, it would look better
on my bedroom floor
He crept in stories
A stranger city never made real
until I laid my eyes on him
He could have been anywhere in the world
but he was here
In this center of industry and history
Metropolis built on whispers and
corners I could never chase the shadows from
and light blue eyes
I sat up one night with his lips on mine
His city grew tall in the distance
It fought the storm and won
His towers reached up through the atmosphere and
bowed under their own weight
They crushed the trees and
snuffed the sun and
swallowed up the entire river
His city blotted out the stars until
the only brightness I could see
were the street lights and the office windows
"Next up on stage will be...," There's a pause as the DJ consults his set list, "Miss Amara!"
He draws out the second syllable of my name to make it sound more exotic. I take a deep breath and then saunter over to the stage with my head held high and a grin on my face.
There are many words for what I do: Exotic dancer, adult performer, entertainer. I always preferred the classic term; stripper. The imagery that comes with a name like that is endless and negative. But the worst belief, and the one I encounter most frequently, is that strippers deserve the bad things that have happened to them; including rape.
Victim blaming is the first res
I'm kinda missing the old days on DA...
You know, where I could hit the random deviant button to give someone a llama badge and almost always get a page full of artwork and not a page with no artwork and a large Fav section full of women tied up and gagged. Or drawn with breasts, feet, or stomachs bigger than any other part of their body. Or seeing underage characters (just had to report one of Moana who is 16 chained up and gagged with her top being see through) drawn in sexual and even rapey ways. SO MANY god damn underage characters. Or seeing just straight up horrid violence towards women like women chained up and getting branded or elec
(Side note: Damn it's been awhile since I updated my journal)
So I give a lot of llama badges out. I've done so pretty much since they came out with them and I've given almost 19,000 of them. It's just a nice, free, easy thing to do. On top of that, it's a great way to foster communication and also to say "Hi, my art work is here!" without actually coming across as advertising or forcing someone to look at anything if they don't want to. So I like it. I also use that little one-click llama badge widget thing so that helps even more.
It's been a long time since I've gone on a llama binge and I just got the widget back and have been d