The raw emotions of a woman by Suzanne Steinberg Page A

perspective of constant production. Is there
another you, we ask the million yous all in the way? Can there be
another one, just one more, just one tiny one more, so I can feel
small with you, this little slim door that has opened up behind
your head again, that dotted gray blue line that we can dance upon
in thought thinking it was all made up, even our hearts can laugh
away our lives through a theoretical predicament, we can just laugh
it all away with one solid breath, one more version underneath the
solid stare of an unknown place we all go back to.
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    What we learn as children
    The head-ducking of
another age that has gotten stuck to our mind, like glue and tooth
picks all wrapped in a ball matted on the side of some girls head
who fell asleep in the sewer beside the drug addicts and the lost
souls, again. The smile that lost itself from being washed off a
face too many times, in an upside down moment, while a little girl
in a white dress twirled beside a music box and a grandmother’s
dreams. There will be people there says the villains who push the
mind back again, the irreplaceable irreversible bubble that we find
ourselves bouncing off of for a neutral story, to love all human
kind as long as we don’t have to personally know them, the before
we forget as we barely hang on beside white bath-tubs and hand
shakes, and the flame of love dies in a man’s eyes, the man we
loved before we met him, the because it will happen that girls put
on makeup and mothers tell their daughters how lucky one day they
will be, just wait as we hold on tight to fight against the war of
empowerment and superficial compliments, all the pain will matter
once someone finally worships you. Keep fighting say the demons as
they finger over porn in day dreams sitting on a toilet calling all
women whores and bitches because we have bodies they will
eventually be held accountable for when the dead pile up, and we
cry endlessly sometimes the rivers and oceans and greed that hold
us all apart, thinking a relationship with another person is a
reflection of good deeds, a belief in beauty is the same as
sacrifice as we all play an impossible game for accomplishment,
while we are watched and guarded by the ever growing
relationship.
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    Two plus two equals four
    You know this soul of
a body you can never forget, your words laced within theirs as
these imaginary moments unfold, this whose who, why not, why me,
moments that you can’t take your eyes off of, as life moves forward
like a babbling creek rushing over rocks, and you get stuck in
those moments, those beliefs in God, the faith because all
humankind is trustworthy, the I told you so, so it will never
happen again moment, and you believe for a slit second in someone
else’s eyes in an inner beauty that won’t ever die, in a life that
is always floating off the ground, in an irreplaceable love that
follows every hardship, and you love for a second, this powerful
unknown force of unconditional love, of every quirky every weird
odd thought, and strange hair and beauty mark and innocent reply
moment of love…and it comes so sweet like the drippings off an
orange in the middle of the summer, it feels like friendship and
watching the shapes in the clouds, and you take that moment and
think it has to be, he has to do this, he has to love me back, he
has to be with me forever, as life turns into a narrow one way
street…and there only feels like one way out again, one way to
break free, one way to turn around and be in the lazy ponds of half
hearted thoughts and whimsical cares. And as you sit admiring
someone else admiring who you thought you could be, this inside
charm and belief that 2 plus 2 equals 4, you find how easy it is to
change, how easy a second or a thought, or a string of long sighs
can be forgotten. How it only takes one person to forget and look
away, it only takes one. And everything that mattered, every moment
in the sun, every longing look and high five and almost there,