Best Stepsister Poems
I play with sorrow hide-and-seek
For love will hide and I am weak,
And when I locate the pot of gold
I find the rainbow has been sold.
I explore the real life of this fairy tale
The gingerbread house is up for sale.
The frog is not what he proclaims to be
A wolf in grandma's nightie is all I see.
The prince is having a bad hair day
The beauty is not in the beast I say.
The carriage 'till midnight will not last
I'll have pumpkin pie to break my fast.
I climb the beanstalk way up high
Open Sesame I cry and cry,
Look there's a dragon at my door...
I don't believe in fairy tales no more.
So tell the seven dwarfs to stay away
Tell the ogres I don't want to play.
The damsel in distress I'll never be
For I'm the ugly stepsister, you see.
No! Cut this piece here!
No! Not there!
Why didn't you cut it right?
says Princess StepSister's
hyper-ventilated syndrome,
jonesing for her next pork chop.
I would have finished
but you bellowed me away
in your Ugly StepSister voice
demanding from open refrigerator door
that collard greens must stop evaporating
behind your eyes.
Ugly StepSister?
Did you just call me a StepSister?
I'm just saying
you think you're a Whatever Princess
but you don't act like one
because, as you know,
princesses are always kind
and say please and thank you
and not whatever,
and seldom if ever bark and bite
at the hands created to lovingly feed them
for the next several years;
while Ugly StepSisters
act like whatever bullies,
talk like ballistic assault weapons.
Which is why
Cinderellas are selected to dance
with Prince Charmings,
and thereby become kind Princesses,
rather than stuck in Ugly StepSister roles and rules,
harping at Prince Charming Dads
to cut their pork chops faster,
and better,
and now,
if not yesterday.
Oh...
Would you cut my pork please, in smaller pieces?
and not take your usual gimpy time, thank you.
Why of course my Princess,
I love to live your Prince Clumsy.
There are three of them, Cinderella siblings:
shapely, deciduous, their leafy green
darkness undulating in the specter wind,
its silent snare drum emulating heartbeats
in syncopated symmetry. "Take us, Take us,
Don't stop!" say the sisters, moving as deliriously
as a woman beneath her lover, while their stripped-
down stepsister, one on one, spells out stillness
in inelastic nudity. Wind shears through her,
unconstricted by skeletal shapeliness.
Nothing to arrange here by the coiffeur wind
in the pared-down beauty of brittle lace-
work, if lacework be brittle.
One nest rests halfway up on a slender limb,
a single stem supports its phantom occupants,
imagined, their ravenous snapper beaks --
landlocked shark-lings, all minuscule jaws,
learning to prey under their mother's bellies --
inhabiting a denuded nest, awaiting a spring
of speckled eggs, cracking the silent thunder
of shells, to free those of gaping mouths, who
know nothing of being born, just that they
hunger and someone comes they do not name
as mother: She of the dependable providence.
For now, there are no newborns, only
a feather; feather, feather, whether or not,
provenance unknown, caught in a branch
far from origin like us, trapped in our casings
of skin: softness pinioned in lacework of limb;
ragged, if lacework be ragged. Here,
where the sisters have been to the Salon,
come back as frowsy as ever, but groomed
somewhat, from a blow dry and a cut.
A combined family.
A tricky situation.
One I have managed to avoid and gladly
I have no idea how they do it.
Each thinking the other one’s children
are spoiled.
Keeping their mouths shut
or worse, taking over too soon.
A tricky situation.
One I have gladly avoided
Trailing behind the bunch was Her. One whose equilibrium is so far forward, she trips on
her own breath. Her head was hanging low in self-pity, luckily, her rollie backpack was
acting as the gravitational pull, keeping her pudgy feet pan-caked to the ground. She
teetered like the original drinking bird, looked just like her too: well just her swollen
fat ass. She was wearing a Disney sweatshirt. Really! Why do “they” always wear Disney?
Are they the only company selling quadruple large? The irony is truly magnificent. Here:
she is the ugly duckling, the evil stepsister, the turtle that never won the race, the fat
engine that never made it up the hill. There: She was given the glass slipper, saved by
her Knight in shining armor, given the kiss to remove the curse. She is a Disney Princess.
Give to me sweet gentle mist.
Thoughts complete my world turbot.
Of peace whisper peer cool fist
their voices music cords cane doe.
Unspoiled world pound stepsister.
To the children who spoiler
the most where ditch prankster.
And death elope they oilier
in the graveside bolier.
Wickedness poignant thoughts pomp
over magical tole.
Ride to hide in apses pomp
billow clouds angels clutch coal.
On fear diversification
inevitability
aulthood precipitation
beauts comparability.
Most Children of war are the objects of pranks and hatred of men. The beauty of {beauts}
life is to grow well, safe, and strong but for war torn countries this is not the case.
Exchanged for the plates they made
and painted with colors representing
springtimes I hardly remember
was the sidewalk way too warm
to walk upon with barefeet
I hardly remember
Scratched through entire lines
of the notes you wrote to me
lines I could never see
which must not be for me to read
imaginably the most precious words
I could never see
The ghost of our old dreams
when he sometimes visits
asks if I still care
for love sung in folk songs
and blue tragic chapters
I still care
She came to me
at five
at war inside
between Plan A
RightEgo Dominant
against Plan B
LeftEcoPolitical Wrong.
I came to her
to ask outside
for LeftYang NatureRights,
cooperatively supported,
ignoring RightYin SpiritWrongs
you see
(and hear and smell)
as NegativEnergy.
Our therapy
with GoldenRules
our Left Secular Identity
and Right sacredality,
sacred Princess secularity.
With outdoor solidarity voices
I learned to hear
then see
then sing
her view of tough
WinLose epic choices.
We ask her to let go
of all she hopes to NubianPrincess be
and all we offer in exchange
is how to lose less
Ugly StepSister Sorority
waiting for further
aging mediocrity
through growing domesticity
by matriarchal Yin repression,
RightBrain sacred oppression.
Now she dances
while we together sing,
calling back to birds
and squirrels
and bees
and crickets
in trees
gardening and pretending to Princess fly
and grace-filled walk
showing sharing esteemed chances
for WinWin princess prances
yet to be
with
or without
me.
She still prefers WinWin
Left deep learning
with sacred Right feeling
as do we all,
as do we all
invited to Prince Charming's ball.
I came to her
at war inside
between Left fading dominance
and Right feeling prominence
longing for resilient
belonging outdoor resonance.
There’s a certain feeling
When you close the door behind you.
Freedom that comes
Only with emotional safety.
I don’t know where
I don’t know how
Not ever sure why
I accepted an invitation to spend the rest of
“Our lives together”
Fast forward a week: red flags
Fast forward two weeks: " "
Fast forward a month
He’s a goner.
“You were willing to fight so hard for this
I couldn’t be that kind of guy.”
Huge, rolling, waving-in-the-wind Red Flag.
Everything crashing down in heaps.
Got the picture?
Sleepless nights
Abandoned days
ALL WE HAVE IS HINDSIGHT.
Reminding me painfully of the time before
And the time before that
And the time before that.
Cannot recall the steady reliable influence of anyone
Except the brutal rage of a tyrannical father,
cruel sabotage of the evil Stepmother,
And jealous antics of the Stepsister.
Cinderella had it good!
How do I deal
With the pain, the shame, the confusion, and guilt
Failure, embarrassment, mutilation, and horror
Of yet another
Failed Relationship?
Pain so intense
it wakes me at
3:00 AM ruminating miserably
Good enough excuse for morning.
I am as emotionally crippled as
The Tin Man without oil.
Four baths a day
Ice cream by the tub
Mind if I smoke?
Just tell me where I blew it.
Never will I ever share another man’s bed
Until I’ve seen his spots
The mask has slipped,
And he stands
As emotionally naked
As I require of myself.
Intimacy that brings you to your knees
(on knees that no longer bend)
I never believed in recovery.
Until I closed that door
Locked it
And barricaded it.
Truth minus freedom
—equals Academia
(Dreamsleep: February, 2021)