Reborn in Red.


I’m tired of living the waiting life.
A still life is no life.
If life is a highway, I want mine
to be well traversed.
A science of motion,
even if I have no idea
where the road leads.

I want to throw banana peels at time
and watch it slip, and for once,
not away.
I want handfuls of sugar,
the long slow drip of molasses and honey.
I want to surrender
to the scent of the jasmines.
I want to rise with the tulips and lilies,
to be overtaken by the sun.

I want a man who pushes
me up against the wall
as soon as we get through the door.
One who kisses me
until I’m shaking,
until I’m drenched.
His mouth and tongue
explorers of the small towns
and cities of my flesh.

To hell with guilt and Joan of Arc.
To hell with a childhood of fear and damnation.
To hell with cotillion and Victorian girls
wannabes swooning, and acting shy.

I want to live.
I want to swim in the ocean,
and feel the current drag me around
like a broken piece of rock.
The waves of the sea whispering:
Yes. Yes. Yes.

I want to hum
until my own drum sounds.
I want to walk into calamities
and feel the wind’s elation.
I want to travel to distant geographies.
Happy with uncertain edges.

I want to circumnavigate the globe
and my own heart,
and let it lead me
to our next destination.
I want to suffer for art, for love,
and let it kill me,
and then I want to be reborn
in a red dress and six inch heels.
A dress that makes
your pupils widen.
I want to feel you
surge against me,
and tell me how fucking
good I look.

-Tosha Michelle