Regret of a Once Young Maiden
Puberty came to me as a young girl,
with more questions answered, than asked.
Be nice, be good, don’t tease or unfurl
true feeling. Lust, desire, must be masked.
Tugging at the chastity belt was conformity.
Exploits of peers filled my mind.
As feelings settled in the Vale of Virginity,
seeking what they knew not how to find.
My need grew slowly to obsession,
owning me deeper each day.
My heart, soul, mind and body in possession
of feelings, abstract, leading me astray.
How has it stayed with me this long?
Can’t you see me longing impatiently?
Wearing chastity as the Mocking bird’s song,
I welcome the time when you consume me.
Take me, ravish me. I give you my flower.
These thoughts, sitting on tongue in cheek,
dreaming as Alice, of magical power.
Yet, in real time there is no prince to speak.
My flower now faded, withered with age,
while dreaming the dream, hope is cheap.
In the end nothing cheap is the rage.
Excuses pile high, my prince under the heap.
If I could live again, I opine as I stare.
My life would be different, I surely think so.
Wearing my flower, brazenly in my hair,
I would lose it faster than I could say no.
July 10, 2011 cgh
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