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Hold On Little Sister It hurts me to see you Going through so much pain. The anguish and humiliation; I can feel it too. I know it doesn't seem fair, The sentence you've been given, And I know it hurts. I can see it in your tears. I can see it in the quivering lip That used to form a dazzling smile. It scares me; my knowledge That you are ready to give up. It disturbs me that you think The whole world is against you. It's ridiculous, huh? The prices we pay For simple mistakes. For saying too much Or trying too little. Hold on little sister. Bite your lip. Because it isn't over yet. Until it is please remember: That I l

The roaring waves of lust Roll and crash within me. Wanting desperately to touch you; I must refrain. We know what's best for us. It's painful. Hiding our passion Like it doesn't exist. One could compare it to torture. Like the excruciating agony of suffocation. Why must we do this? Would it be so wrong For us to be together? Baby, I miss you. I miss the way you used to hold me, And the tender way you kissed me. The thought of your hand Gently underneath my head Makes me sorrowful. To know that it can't be That way now. Never again will we be one.

Can't wait to break free Of the bonds holding me captive In this desolate wasteland; Dehydrated of culture And diversion. Damn this town. Damn this school. Damn those who look down on me For having an opinion. Blast those who mock me for my beliefs, And my willingness to fight for them.

My heart's still pounding Even though we're miles away. They'll never find us here. The exciting feeling of rebellion, The arousing sensation of defiance. I open the door and step out into the sun. The chill of the wind Gives me goosebumps. The soft, white sand Forms to the shape of my feet. Your hand envelopes mine. I am breath taken by the aesthetic beauty. The sun's shimmering reflection on the ocean. The water rising and falling with a violent passion. For a moment I am gone from my body. You are with me And we are nothing but spirits Soaring with wings of freedom. In love with hearts of youth. I am

The Goddess lives in legend As a life past. Shaken with sex, drugs, And good old rock n' roll. The original "Blues Mama"; The "night-blooming flower" Sporting her style, And singing her soul. A free spirit In a world of  tradition. With her sweet refusal to blend in And strong aversion to conformity. She broke away from her chrysalis of  constraint   But before she could fly, She was taken captive By heroin's net. A beautiful butterfly In a jar without holes; She suffocated to death. She took her first and last chance To fly out of this world, And into the next. With wings in full bloom She soared from this life, And

The Saint stood For her beliefs. She was, after all, The Chosen One. The young woman Who was above any man In the sight of St. Katherine. She followed her call Until her demise. The majestic martyr. My Sacred Feminine. Persecuted for her gender, Success, and divinity. The Holy Maid of Orleans: Joan of Arc.

Never minding the pain in her feet From the tight straps on her wedge heels, She continued her stride to her next class. Her flowing black skirt danced with every step. She admired its performance by glancing at The skirts distinctive silhouette Branching out from her moving shadow While she observed the back and forth steps She forced her feet to make. Staring at the ground while walking was a habit She had taught herself in order to avoid Making eye contact with the people who pass her by. This trait was not formed due to an act of shyness, But more in an act of fear. Not the fear of strangers, But the fear of being strange