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




Copyright Adrienne Adams January 13th 2015.

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,


learning to heal, I slept seeking

a refuge in every other religion


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

fairytales, Poetry, Red, religion, sexuality

What the wolf doesn’t realize.

The wolf knows a lot about you but he doesn’t really know you.
He knows how to trap and trick you
to have you falling for his charms over and over again.
But what the wolf doesn’t know is how to love you.
or to admit that he needs you as much as you need him
maybe More.
You both may know how to transform blood into knowledge
him, yours,
and you, the blood of all the women who came for him, before you.
like the bee that stings dies soon afterwards,
a Wolf needs the blood of his victims to survive.
but what he doesn’t know is that you know how to pull all your blood back inside you.
That no matter how many times you bleed, you always produce more.
– 0r – maybe he does – and this keeps him coming, Back, for more.
what he doesn’t realize is that He lives Off you
and he dies a little every time you walk away – le petit mort
then he wanders, searching for other victims but may not have the ecstasy of Your blood again.

its particular taste and texture

The wolf doesn’t know that you have grown secrets strengths inside you.
He is not your first Wolf.
You are not his first victim.
He doesn’t know that You know how to survive wolf’s
that, no matter how drunk you may be on his blood sucking ways
you know about being sober,
IT carries its own rewards.
You –  may forget this as well –
swept away by tides
But the Wolf doesn’t realize that one day, you will remember how to leave.
That you have done this before, and so can do it again.
You may go searching for other wolves, or become one yourself.
He thinks he’s taking your blood From you.
What he doesn’t realize is that he is teaching you about eternity,

that you have given it willingly.
that love grows you in secret stores of strength,
and is the only thing that truly grows as it is spent,
that you adore the ecstasy of depletion
that you have witnessed your own replenishment over – and over –  again.
and may it has left your heart bitter.
you still thinks it is an all amazing Wonder.
That bitterness has the grounding power to teach you about your own iron.
what the wolf doesn’t realize is how much mettle you have,
or that bitters are essential for optimal digestion.
Sweets are often like poison to the body and the soul.
that blood ferments into Whine and becomes liquid gold!
The wolf doesn’t realize he is teaching you how to hOWL.
That the sound of your sorrow will echo to the very depths of the earth
shaking the ground beneath you Both.
The wolf will not realize what he lost, –
but you will.
Even if it hits him,
the wolf will never get to experience the fullness of your beauty or the opening of your soul.
If all he ever practices is how to take he will never know the joy of receiving giving.
the ecstasy of surrender,
the blissfulness of obliteration,
or the affirming power of realizing ones own resilience.
That love is a gift that women have often given to each other
when all other sources have Run – dry.
the wolf may never learn what true love is
or experience the depths of your gravity
and so the avalanche of your heights.
that giving and receiving are equal on playing field
that one cannot take without giving and his greatest gifts,
are all the lessons you will learn about yourself.
The wolf doesn’t realize that you have secrets stores of beauty within you
and that one day when you are sick of the games and the lies and the dark ecstasy he knows how to generate.
You will secede pulling away each stone from within, you
that will fall as you empty yourself of your collective sins, leaving a trail of forgiveness behind you.
That your greatest suffering will be knowing His poverty for never having experienced the satisfactions of truly loving you.
Because you will see your beauty and your strength and your resilience glowing lustrously like a great beacon of alleluia within you.
The wolf doesn’t realize that he – the con artist – is carving you
so that one day you will pull out all of your true gifts like liquid gold and leave fires glowing in a wake of dust behind you.

the wolf doesn’t realize you have been smoking his smoke.

– the whole – fucking pack.

Copyright Adrienne Adams June 28th 2014

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.