life, poetry, Self-Help

The Man

Conceived in the womb

of rustic Earth, in cradles

of cemented cobbled streets.

Sculpted body arched cuts

carved out pangs of hunger, 

an old man who was never there,

hollow eyes searching in rubble

and dust to foresee a clueless future,

bulging muscles fed on charades

of abuses, molded of violated

sexuality on menacing highways

Risen out of grim wreckage of a

wasted youth and cheap drugs.

Raw and visceral, he was to

be The Man…

Love, Nature, poetry, woman


I’ve lived multiple lives,

surviving to live

as a man,


Million little moments

sabotaged to feel as

grandiose as

a man.


Countless nights sacrificing 

cotton fluff like yearnings to

please what became of 

that man. 


Marring those ardent desires

in whose rustic Earthen

wombs  human hope 

is conceived. 


Patiently waiting, ogling at you

to live as me a woman

only for a passing