Friday, January 13, 2012

Is the Bird Elizabeth?


Bashful, was a face I knew not
I can't place my illusions
of being superior
I cared not, haughty and high handed
I was branded with a grief
born of lies
I would walk on by and glance their way
not caring who's faces I passed
There was nothing to stop me or make me stay
I would not look around
I was ornery
Timid, never a trait of mine
I would take on the world like a General
These illusions I held to were mine
to make me stronger
Yet here you are, stripped me bare in a word
You opened your mouth
to my knees, from that sound I heard
Mister, you have nerve, to bring me down
You have nerve to stop me
Who are you with your hot tempered charm?
I am no fool, you see
Sultry, these eyes of mine have captivated
I led them along like little toys
I did not care, for my illusions held me aloft
but then, you stripped me bare
You laid me out like all I was not
Showed me how weak my armor was
My little friend, called vengeance, could not touch you
you're unstoppable
I hated the fact you made me weak
I hated this vulnerable side of me
How can a man stop me with a glance
and let me know he sees right through me?
Stupid boy, I've no time for your charades
I am not a game playing girl
And yet you crook your finger then to tell me where I erred
and I am annoyed by your stance
So, I primp my hair, and I bat these eyes
I wear my pearls but try in vain
You glance my way, and I might as well be wearing
the garb of a little child
in fairy pink and glittered toes
I do not feel powerful or sophisticated
I feel quite bashful and shy
Oh, why, oh why, am I suddenly so weak in your gaze?
What have you done to me?
Then, I am transformed
Beneath your eyes I am more than I could ever be
No walls, no airs, no facades to hide behind
I am all I am and more and that is fine
You Mister, you're a Master of me
You call the shots with your finger crooked
You make me see I am powerful, by being vulnerable and being
all of me, splendid me
I am ever greater, stronger and beautiful underneath your glance and
in your words
your uttered word
that word that changes how I look at me
The word, the word, the


"Death of a Bird"

Little bird on the pavement is dying slowly
You see her there and think to care too slowly
You figure nothing can help and why dirty your hands?
You leave that little bird there and say it's out of your hands
So, she lays alone and watches the leaves fall
So, she lays alone and watches the rain fall
She is cold and her feathers are drenched
She is shaking and in fear she is drenched
How you left her to die is so cruel and wrong
I know you'll never admit that you're wrong
She is just a bird you say just a dead bird now
Yet she died a slow death; how does it feel now?
Little bird on the pavement is a dead little thing
You had walked right on by this tragic thing
Her feathers are fading to fragile bones
Hollow, broken, kicked aside bones
You walked on by
You walked on by

By Elizabeth Azpurua

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