I dream of living where the rainbow is in me.
The pot of gold the reflection of my laughter.
I can look into the eyes of love and walk away content.
When days will shy away and the night is welcome, no more monsters hiding in a Raggedy Ann closet.
Night a comfortable cloak.
Lights twinkling around the world with little stories.
I will be a little story that shines in the quiet of night.
Stories about boys.
When my mother cradled me in her womb, she felt sure she knew who I was.
My first name as life beget me was Martin. This was the name my parents had ready to write me up when signed, sealed and delivered.
Learning them by osmosis,…tracing around lipstick lips on coffee cups, socks in big lady bra’s and parading up the street unavailable to the smirks of passing strangers.
The stork was curiously bizarre to me even before the birds and the bees talk.
Didn’t learn much more than " I thought you were going to be a boy".
If to cut open the inside of girl thoughts I was sure I would of seen the loneliest little girl orphan in a blue room.
First kiss thoughts, milky and a tongue gently caressing the inside of my mouth.
I was no longer a little orphan, I was a mouth, seen through the first kiss.
Now to grow a body.
A beginning of living without Martin.
© Arcadia Tempest 2010
A bio of sorts with some extra spoonfuls of imagination….
Fact : Martin was my ’ boy ’ name.
Fact : I did the bra parade when I was about 8 yrs.
Fact : I am not a boy.