If you ever want to know what a woman is really thinking, don't ask her; ask her girlfriends! When women get together, there's no telling where the conversation will go. There are no bonds like those of women. These poems are about some of the secrets and experiences I've had the pleasure to share with my girls. So, for a little insight into the minds and relationships of women, read on!
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Superwoman
Whoever wrote that ridiculous song
about bringing home the bacon
while also taking care of the family
was either out of their complete mind
or given to moments of grandeur
I havent figured out how to juggle
my needs with the needs of my man,
let alone, trying to work in meals.
Between my job and my brassiere
I am about as compatible to marriage
as a politician is
to the unmitigated truth
Underneath this altogether
facade, this classic navy suit,
lives a millenium woman with legs
long enough to step over the glass ceiling
held dutifully in place by a too tight girdle,
and totally de-liberated by its mere necessity.
I aint trying to be superwoman.
I'm just trying to get comfortable.
Yvonne
(c)1999
Revised 8/2000
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Strut
Some people judge women by their shoes,
preferring the stilted arch of a shapely leg
in heels to the sturdy assuredness of one inch flats.
I've been in these shoes all day,
struck a pointy, slew-footed pose
while we mulled over corporate nonsense.
A chic stance was all I needed
to take the attention of my peers
from the lack of substance in my speech
to the outward stride of long legs,
sleek ankles and Martinez Valero pumps.
When a woman sits high on her horse,
power in the thighs, the calves, serve well
to balance the art of femininity, of click-
clocking along sterile corridors on stilts,
with steel- toed conviction worn like
an old pair of brogans.
Yvonne
(c)2000
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On Being Forty
On Being Forty
And so, what is this forty
but the willingness to wiggle
out of the confinement
of mother's truths
and free-fall
into my own vision
of black womaninity.
To throw away the net
and grab life with teeth.
To plunge into the full-ness
of woman/self and acknowledge
all of these hips, tits and thighs
as wholly mine.
And what is this forty
but the audacity to say
unabashedly, "yes",
when I mean yes.
To dig, finger and thumb,
beneath thirty's unearthed
stones and lick - no- slurp
the she that is me.
And so, forty is this: The self-
revelation that life
is the verb "to be"
conjugated in its present tense
and who I have become at forty
has undoubtedly
been me
all along.
yvonne
(c) 12/2001
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Where Do Men Go?
Where do men go when they leave?
Is there a secret haven where
they all convene in huddles
to compare blood stained sheets,
hi-fiving and chest-bumping,
proudly recounting details of
their most recent conquest?
Where do they go?
Do they sit around playing cards
cussing and lying about their
sexual prowess?
Do they exchange photograghs
of the last woman they left with the
"Boo-Boo-The-Fool" seal of approval
neatly stamped on her forehead?
Where do they go?
I'm convinced
that there is a place
in some far away land
where men are summoned at birth,
seasoned and marinated
in a thick coat of
arrogance
trained on the principles of
love and relationships
so they can always
recognize the enemy
dipped three times in
extra slippery snake oil,
to ensure ease and mobility
when it's time to slip away
and sprayed with guilt repellant
(for obvious reasons...)
they've even got
a special masking tape
they use for the sensitive ones
It keeps them wrapped up
in their own pain so they don't
truly fall in love and fuck things up
for the rest of them.
I wanna know.
Where do men go when they leave?
And why, pray tell,
do we keep letting
them come back?
Yvonne
(c)1997
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The Mistress
she stands aloof
i can feel her eyes
burn a hole in my back.
she is waiting.
waiting for me to leave
so she can make her move
move into my home
take my seat at the table
in my kitchen
wearing my white robe
my slippers
slip into my bed
with my too tight curlers
causing her the headache
i've been enduring for years
assigning new and improved
pet names, teaching old dogs
new tricks.
tricked into stepping into
the worn out, beat up shoes
i finally had the good sense
to walk out of.
silly bitch.
yvonne
(c)1998
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Yes, There Are Times
At 3:00 A.M, when my libido
wakes me up, hungry.
It's vacations at home,
holidays alone.
Cardboxed dinners from
Hung Sum Body.
It's running out
of good books,
old friendships to rekindle.
It's Friday nights
and haven't I seen
this movie before?
When five pounds gained
takes my self esteem down five notches
and all I want is to be beautiful
to someone again.
Yes, there are times when
I wish him back
I wish him back
I wish him back
yvonne
(c)2001
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