fairytales, feminism, mythology, Poetry, Red, religion, self awareness, sexuality

Eve’s Room

I’ve been walking in Red

Heels through the apple of the forest

to meet you when all my feet want

to do is touch down, and admit they are dirty.

Attempting to salvage my life in half I cut

to the chase revealing the starry starving heart

& ate all the breadcrumbs in a bid to feel full

now lost I am sitting at the base of this tree drowning

in all my knowledge of you being

no closer to having a clue as to what to do

Pretty dresses wrap me in Red threads bound

to my ancestors, when all I want to do is

Carry on the line, instead of fearing blood

Loss I’m quaking with the dread that one day

I will stop bleeding altogether

Long before I’ve cracked

the Rubik’s cube of life

& figured out how to piece my ticking time together

beating on the wood of circulating in and out I am cocky smart

without a whip to lash back in

Making-up lies to keep me going when does

Wisdom dress up deceit & since when

Do puzzles solve themselves or fit

Into place while we sit watching

for our boiling points?

I am so sick of

simmering like the faint whisper of a whimper

I would shoot holes in my brain & my heart if it would make anything better

But since when did destruction ever fill anything

with something

but a leaky bucket & since when did time

Heal anything except everything we’ve finally forgotten

To grasp onto so tightly in our sleep?

& in the morning I pray my dreams will make me a slithering

of Eve loving her alter ego Lilith, chasing babies born of demon love to

regurgitate them like hope & perseverance

as two sister sinners grasp hands

and make peace with themselves

and all they have ever eaten to sustain living

in a paradise of their own making.

One bite of life

At

A

TIME.

Copyright Adrienne Adams January 13th 2015.

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Art, Beginnings, feminism, mythology, Poetry, religion, sexuality

Like Lights

I was raised on a religion that broke my heart & now

I am forever feeding on this sacred host

& drinking it’s blood for life

like a vampire praying for release

from the bondage of eternal life.

Life that broke my back in it’s stride

& seems hellbent on forever tossing me in the fly of its waking,

dreaming,

learning to heal, I slept seeking

a refuge in every other religion

imaginable

I want to absorb All the knowledge,

read everything passed through

historical IV networks of written words

I used to feel wise

It seems the older I get the less I know

& now 19 year olds are calling me Fool or Foul

& I am stuck on repeat

& I’ve memorized my patterns of pain

so perfectly I can replicate it them all through

my subconscious mistakes seamlessly.

Is where we are broken truly where beauty is found?

Does the light really filter in through our cracks?

I used to think healing was something you

did once & for all

& Then you lived.

but I am learning that salt has a way of always

finding your scars, & once your marked,

You’re marked for life.

So I’m floundering as all the darkness pours

in through all those crevices.

The only thing I’ve learned is that at some point

the tide always recedes

& the glass is always both half empty

and half full, Both,

you hear?

& as my mother crouches closer to death

she starts babbling louder about saving people &

I wonder does fear do that to you?

But see, we are all like that, often it seems so much

easier to save someone else,

other than ourselves,

& my friend Shanti told me once that she viewed Faith in 3’s

for if you don’t have faith in yourself,

the situation,

& those around you, then

what truly do you faith in?

Shanti means Peace in Sanskrit – I think there’s some

kind of wisdom in that,

& these days I am loath to admit that my faith is shaky at best,

deterring on eyes of distrust & “is that really what my intuition said?”

But I keep on breathing, placing

one foot in front of the other, listening

to the hum of fallen angels raining past

my ears

& I keep looking with wide eyes

both up, & down &

all around,

Inside, sometimes with wonder

& sometimes often trying to not.

So if one thing of beauty made life worthwhile

would you live it?

One thing.

Would you choose this path just to see the sunset

divide your heart into multi coloured hues

one more time?

would you cry just to feel the wonderment of wetness,

reigning down your eyes in a tantrum of a tempest?

& would you live just to howl from the very depths within you

at the injustice of living?

For fairness is a mystery we tell ourselves

as we lick our wounds

so that others cannot see them

& once you wonder why me? Why is it always

me? when its is truly ALL of us – forever united

by our smiles that mask & reveal

the great fires, ever burning,

so wickedly brilliant,

white hot,

within us.

Copyright Adrienne Adams December 18th 2013

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feminism, mythology, Poetry, sexuality

I seek

I am seeking a feminine voice echoing

across golden ages of curves that is

fat and kind and round,

with wisdom dripping off her rims

in dregs of toffee ground tears.

A voice that squeals with the high edge of

masculinity stretched beyond its breaking point

to give birth & bleed salt

into my years of knowing

just how deep I am & you are.

I want to take your hand in a warm caress of

passion, stroke it against my thighs

until you are enveloped in a love so

lush and soft and full

grown wrinkly like an old

for skin we will wrap around

each other in waves.

I am seeking a voice

that is valued for it’s very vulnerability,

recognizing strength in its years of innocence

spent gathering oneself

into one’s self

so that I can leap

with unburdened joy

& not be ashamed at how truly excited I am to see you!

laughing like a school girl

and dancing ’till the tips of my toes

carry me over the brink of life

and back again.

I seek a voice full of motherhood

not just for all the children

but for all the burgeoning things living inside

my friend’s heart of hearts

so that we are nurtured in a way

to know we are loved infinitely

& All-ways.

I am seeking a voice that breaks the very bonds of its

oppression by dissolving

like water and flowing over

everything that has tried

to quell it.

This voice is a phallus crying

to be engulfed in heated convulsions

of sticky tides

speaking cunt language softly

with the sagacity of love,

one word

with so many meanings

sucking on the suckling of sprouting

until we bloom and die and return

again, weakly, monthly , daily

howling at the moon

which

move the tides of our enslaving in a steady stream

of transformation.

I am seeking a feminine voices that howls at it’s own,

content to be heard and valued for nothing other

than what it is.

I am seeking a feminism that embraces the feminine

in a humanitarian hug of x and y

chromosomes jumbled up to spell glbtq

forwards and back again

until we all know finally and forever

that we all Come from our mother’s mothers hearts

down an unbroken chain of eternity

that is boundless and flows

with the very life of blood

the first

sacrament

to partake in.

This is my body,

Eat!

Feast!

Devour!

Amen

Copyright Adrienne Adams August 23rd 2013

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Art, Beginnings, fairytales, feminism, mythology, Poetry, religion, sexuality

birthing Be-ginnings

Aphrodite's_voice_logo_webres_1Okay so I have decided to break the limits of my life, to trangress my fear and start publishing what I WANT to be out there in the world. We bring the world we want to live in to being by creating it. This is my act of birth. my Art, my Poetry, my Voice, my Authenticity, my Be-ing. Space Feminine Divine. Aphrodite’s Closet breaking out of Pandora’s box to be a nugget of love in an ocean of uncertainty…. love…ly.

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