For a Man

Women make better friends, they said

Nails bite like incisors into soft, warm flesh

Women are fluid


Then I took

A man with big hands and enormous feet

Whose hair tickles parts of me

About which my Mother didn’t tell

Fingers that sing tricky tunes of love

The bee’s sting of desire


I know women

But I love a man


I am not a traitor to my sisters’ cause

Punching my fist in the face of ideological rejection

I am the projection of




Merely human


Louise M. Hart












No Apologies: I Am Woman and…I Bleed

Right now, at this moment when life seems too short for prostration, I do not feel happy. I am not ill or depressed, I have merely looked into my soul and perceived a gapping hole of unrest. My mind is uneasy with thoughts of failure and the ridiculousness of my vanity. As I write my blog, a platform for self-expression transforms into a confessional-an occasional table at which we all have sat. I ask myself, if we do this is in pursuit of redemption or merely as a cover for the desire for affirmation. For, I self-affirm daily and subsequently tear myself to pieces, like a piece of paper on which I have written a poem of bathos with allusions to my own feelings of distress.
Why do I blog? Because I was advised to. In these days when social networking is essential for all struggling writers I have entered the twenty-first century and, strangely, it feels good. However, goodness, lies in the hands of derision and darkness is forever near. Where there is good, bad threatens to invade. Thus, I have entered the blogging realm and uncovered an ego so fragile that it breaks in the wake of potential rejection. Does that render me any different from others? No. I am woman, if you do not like me, it is okay-I am not about to change.