shadow girl

I looked at her thighs--
boney thin and erect;
dim and graceful and
everything I wanted i
n myself and in my m
ind. Her legs, so slend
er and civil and classy
. Her arms, sleek as b
arbed wire, cold to th
e touch (her touch wa
s ever so vague and c
omplacent). She looke
d once familiar to me,
like a mirror rebound
ing off the asphalt ins
tead of glass. The "s
ilver" girl, (gold is exh
austed). Her face was
meaningless to me; a
clean slate--as clean a
s the chalkboards that
leave vague imprints a
fter furiously trying to
erase any lovely mista
k es. She is me, yet
I am not her.

I am so jealous.

I want her. I wa
nt to be
her.
.
.
.

- - - - -

Inspiration: A young girl once told me, "I wish I looked like my shadow" as we were walking outside one day. She was telling me this as she was looking at her shadow stretching across the concrete as the sun was setting (yet in this poem, I stated that the shadow is running along asphalt, not concrete). At such a young age, this girl was unhappy with her body weight. This poem is trying to reenact that dissatisfaction, yet I think it goes so much deeper than words can depict.

My super-ego forbids it

this forbidden tango,
the uncoordinated
left-footedwaltz.

one step:
We loved each other.

second beat:
We almost kissed.

third turn:
you stepped on me.

fourth twist:
i truned aawy

fifth step:
i lsot my pcale

My super-ego forbids it,
my id says to LEAVE,
to find another twist-and-turner.
Someone who won't merely
"Carry you
(with
Footsteps
in theSand)."


but,

I want to dance.
I want to tango.

My ego says yes,
my heart says no.


It's paradoxical.


- - - - -

Just to clear up things... This poem isn't about love. It's about making an important decision... And if you caught this, I bolded the "t" in "tango" on purpose.