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.

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, fairytales, mythology, Poetry, Red, sexuality

Catch me. If I FALL…

How many times have you been outrun by the Wolf?

And how many wolves can you go through

before you run out of a pack?

I am forever stopping

to smell the flowers,

embrace ALL life on the way

to delivering the goods.

Helping old ladies

climb downstairs

just as my mother taught me.

these days I’m missing

teeth and syllables one too many

knocks on Wood

All you have to do

to entrap me


Peel back my hood and LIck.

So I Wrap

myself in Red

because I’m Hot

running a fever, trying to sweat

scarlet letters

for all the delicious sins (Sumptuously Insurgent Near Synchronicities)

I’ve committed.

the Devils HornS

are also red

shoes are made for dancing

it’s my first love

either that or the ocean – take your pick.

both could win Passion

is a virus that runs

through my veins, I am forever

now afraid to ignite

all the fireworks within me

because I know how badly they can

I am capable

of consuming whole oceans

and Spitting OUT

all the Rocks

in the process of cooling

the fires inside


it doesn’t Mean

they don’t

Drown me or Leave

me Gasping for Air.

FULL of needles and pins

beating my limbs

on the worn path

just to

Feel – again.

I am Forever


about what Lurks

in the forest I try to

Follow Rules.

but there’s one my mother never taught me

which seems to win justice

over & over


No good deed goes unpunished

especially when you like to run wild

and free

amongst the company…

CRY wolf,

cry, Cry, CRY!

him back to me I have

no Sheeps’ clothing to skin

scalding the Fur I’m in.

It’s a mess of hair-tangled thoughts

that addle my brain in addictions

to the taste of your skin

and the texture of your hair, this body

closet you have locked me in.’

I drink Whine in hopes

that some

Sacred Host

will open up and let the light in my grandmother’s

Blood has all been spent and still

I long for wisdom to come from within.

Does Abuse send you backwards?

in time, spiraling down the maturity line?

Is love like heroine & how

Can I be my own?

when I keep disappointing myself

over & over

I’m so in love with the story that I’ve lost the plot.

chasing metaphors in every cell,

I Find myself Locked in.

Breathe. Go outside.

to pee Little Red escapes

by her own wits

But what if you’ve fallen so hard for the Wolf you actually want to BE him???

The light of the moon

transforms the where into wolf

and the hunting begins…

Little red crosses the river, rescued by the washer women

Who entrapped the wolf in their fresh, clean pressed, white, sanitized Laundry.

Eve Ate the apple.

Lilith Swallowed pomegranate seeds

Pandora Opened the box &

Persephone was Always in LOVE with Hades

not just her mother….

this is the x-rated version of history.

Winter. IS. necessary.

As Necessary as spring, summer &


on your knees

over & over

Praise the darkness

within you that offers itself up to light the stars

are born and die in bursts of passion

We are all Stars burning

so bright we Blind

each other in our passing.

And though I may be Ravaged by the baggage of living

and Bleeding, at least



by my very quickening blood

I am Fully unabashedly ALIVE &

therefore Capable

of being cut and hurt to the greatest of depths

& of loosing myself

in Surrender

the great passionate ecstasy Burning

every so dangerously

within me.

Catch me… if I Fall……

Copyright Adrienne Adams June 25th 2014