Because in my full term with love, the afterbirth
That was felt again and again, different face, different name
but results were still the same.
How can I yearn for such a thing that causes so much hurt and
so much strife.
How can I desire the American dream, he as my husband
and I as his wife.
How can I put myself back on the edge of a rocky,
Not knowing if I will be pushed and land once again
all broken and stiff.
As I lean back in my chair and feel all the hurtful emotions
take over me.
I fancifully envision a fairy godmother giving me a potion to
set me free.
"A potion? A real potion"; you may say.
"Is it mixed with red bull and Tangueray?" *
Ah No, but it is a potion that is mixed with the feelings of
A feeling that is an ultimate high that you can't
get from a fix.
It is a feeling of butterflies in your stomach, or a
whisper in your ear.
It is a feeling of passion and courage; standing tall even
if Goliath were near.
It is the Dr. Jekyll when it's alter
ego is Mr. Hyde
It is the cure of its own disease and restorer
to its own plight
Can I just taste, indulge and bathe in its beauty, cherish God's
gift oh I won't complain.
It is worth all its grief if I can dance for just for a moment in its rain