Elizebeth Turnquist

I'm caught by the thought;
The more thet know the less they want
Real is only ideal until its boring
Comfort conflicts with commitmentThe dance of romance eludes me
The function of seduction is a laugh
The lies that we try just to get by
Are temporary temptations at bestI rebel againt the hell of waining interest
The male gaze doesn't grant me worth
I'm not a damsel in distress to be desired
Somehow I will survive these shallowsI may lament my loneliness
But I refute any reference to deference
I will not be less to catch some quarry
Let them play that sick game without me.

Sometimes it's about perspective
What we have vs what we don't
I may not have health, physical or mental
I have never been, or known, the idle rich
But I am smart and employed
I have love that encouraged my voice
I comfort myself with my creativity
Sometimes I have to count my dollars
Be careful in my choosing of supplies
But I have more than one canvas
I have more than one paint
I have more than one brush
My art is my priveledge.

In appropriate words I cannot think
As words are such but a weak expression
of how this quilted silence lives inside of me
For deeply is she hidden
folded under such darkened velvet
in the quiet recesses of my soul
That I may no longer know her face
And in those delicate hands of youth
She holds a box of memories
that I may never see
For in my bitter misery
I made her hide away from me.

Appearance is our first impression
Proceeding words spoken
I aim for clean and cute
I hope for a second considerationI don't always object to being an object
But the object I don't want to be
Is an object to be owned
An object chassing affectionIn my old age, I'm tired of sexy
I'm frustrated by the expectation
I wish my body wasn't a barter
I rebel againt "keeping it up"I want to be a free range object
Living between "looking nice"
And "keeping a mate"
My style is for my pleasureAttractive is relative
And personality effects perception
I hope to be disliked for what I say
Not for how I look.

We get so used to fighting the "them"
That we start to fight our "us"
We waste our time refining "us"
And loose the message to minutiaBut it isn't always about one voice
Or one consistent message
The details aren't as important
As the thread that binds usOur allies make us stronger
Teachers further our message
A chorus makes us louder
Division can only divide usThere is value in varied perspectives
The old voice brings wisdom
The young voice brings change
The dissenting voice brings reflectionA unexpected spark in one person
Grows to a slow burn in the many
Flames can come together as a wildfire
But won't survive if they're doused.

Oh little miss contrary
why do we have to compete
they're just words on brittle lips
of minds that don't seem to meet

I wish you would listen
to the words you speak aloud
and see how much they hurt me
when we're standing in a crowd

you don't have to agree
to give my words credit
I wish you'd wear some empathy
even just a little bit

it isn't just what you mean
that matters when you speak
it's what you leave inside of me
that brings the tears I leak

I put in you in the distance now
away from my gentle heart
your casual, cruel, contrary
can't hurt if we're apart.

Favorable dissection has been wrought on me
a delectable detection of my humanity
The thought was of respect and the truth of fury
but that has yet to give me reason to flee
I've done all this wonder before
the socialization I have to deplore
A gentle reminder of my spawned beginning
when that soft womb made me secure
He held me up into the light
burnt my hand with the burning bulb
told me of this lack of flight
this body does withhold
Bit me off a piece of knowledge
chewed it down to into bone
Look down at the rubbled mess
and pondered wherefore it had come
Wisdom should be something to relish
if logic would not interfere
but love has taken its rightful place
and given me something to fear.

Chapter 1

The sneaker mocked her.  Penny rolled over.  Moonlight came in from the window and illuminated its gold sequins.  She pushed the sheet and duvet off.  It was boastful, that sneaker, with all its glitter and glam.  Worse, the sneaker knew of her stupidity. With a click, Penny turned on the bedside lamp.  Her eyes squinted in protest.  The covers fell to the floor with a thud.  Her feet touched down on the hardwood and she kicked aside the offending pile of blankets.  The gaudy shoe wasn't moved by her scathing gaze.  It just sat there.  Each sparkle a spotlight on her shame.

Hours before she stepped out of the post office and the day stole her senses.  It was warm in the sunshine and crisp in the shade.  The pale blue sky was full of fluffy clouds and the sun played peek-a-boo between the trees.  All she could think, as she stood with the warmth on her face, was about walking down to the park.

She only went a few blocks outside her safety zone.  With thumbs hooked in th…

I don't choose a world
of don'ts and can'ts
I live my world in try
and fail and try again
Sometimes I get success
I always get productive.

If the trick to catch a man
Is to be thin and young and dumb
Then Im not sure there is a man
Im going to try and seekIm not willing to be submissive
To court or keep a guy
Pleasure and companionship
Can be found other waysIm fat and old and smart
I like food more than sex
No one will acuse me of being fun
Im at odds with keeping a mateI wont spend my life
In a perpetual chase
I think I can live without
Yeah, Im better off on my own.

Grief is an odd thing
like a slap in the face
it's surprises and stings
and leaves a mark It can come in waves
crashing over us
pulling us under
suffocating under the weight Other times it's a numbness
as if nothing has changed
but the colors are muted
The day a bit less brightFor a moment it isnt so bad
And then grief sneaks up on us
because it lives with us always
the visits just get less frequentWe go on in this incomplete world
A world that keeps moving
A new day that keeps dawning
We live with what it is.

I sometimes wonder
How they cannot see
That investing in anger
Is an act of futility
Anger does not return joy
Or make one better
Rage is the path
To a rancid bitter
Happy is hard
Its a choice of attitude
A habbit of seeking positive
Even when your not in the mood
I dont know whats easier
The happy or angry path
But i know the one ive chosen
And its not one of wrath.

I never wanted to be a circus clown
to turn the world upside down
with a laugh and a lark
I always wanted them to see me for my mind
and to think about me anytime
when they heard my true voice
the world is more cruel than this
when it doesn't give you beauties kiss
you watch the rest make headway
while you just wait and pray
is yearning the only kind of fever
that will lead me to the place of furvor
where I'll find bright lights on my face
I don't think it's wrong to yearn for
a little recognition for what I make more
than all the other girls
I'm driven to the page
to write down my thoughts about me
even when the rest don't care I write wishing for a blank stare
My words are all I have, you see
to connect me to this world around me
I wish you could taste them half as much
as you discard them from your touch.

Do I want to be beautiful?
is that a burden I desire
Some might say the answer is easy
that beauty is always preferred
If I have to choose which bigots
feign disgust for me
do I want to be mocked for my form
or restricted to a pedestal
for there are always bigots
always restrictions
beauty wouldn't remove hardship
it would only change the burdens
I have to carry
I'm not ugly, per se,
I have a symmetrical face
fair skin, fair hair,
and sky colored eyes
but I'm large, a girth greater than most
my hair is unconventionally cut
my skin less than flawless
and, worst of all, my movement is stilted
I stumble ungracefully through life
Would I prefer to be thin
to look like a picture in a magazine
so that all the men flock to me
and the women envy
Could I deny myself food
and run myself ragged
spending hours primping
to grasp for that improbable goal?
So far the answer is no,
I do not choose conventional beauty
Instead I choose comfort,
and boast pridefully
of the other qualitie…

What you consider lazy I live as survival
My body doesnt work like yours
If I work to hard I pay for it
Not in a metaphorical life ballance way
But in real life flemmy illness and pain
I dont get to book my day full
Unless I'm willing to crash many after
Took years to accept my limitations
Spent my youth acting physically normal
And then crying when my body rebelled
Wasnt until my thirties that I got a clue
When I finally accepted my limitations
Changed my attitude about my lack
I choose whats important to me
I'm independant and self supporting
I'm proudly working disabled
And, no, I dont have much else
I had to give up the dream of more
To truely appreciate what I have
Stopped focusing on whats missing
And, instead, focus on what I've got.

My body punishes me for surviving
each morning of getting up
each week of going to work. I'm tired of being tired.
And grounchy at being grumpy.
And worked up about being anxious. Pain is not a plesant companion.
Discomfort is not desired.
Paranoia can piss off.All I want is to sleep a couple days
so I can feel a little less extra
be a smidge closer to okay.

Is happiness content
Like a long slow walk
Or is it bubbling joy
Like a burst of pleasure
I have experienced both
But live with neither
I am unsettled and uneven
Like a well worn road
My discomfort is familiar
Even as it disatisies
I aim for content
Grasping moments of joy
And still dont understand
Exactly what happiness is.

I am an unwavering atheist
No faith and no spritality in me
But I would never wish to remove
The innocent belief of anotherHow cruel a person I would be
To wish someone loose faith
Just so they don't contradict
My strongly held worldviewI dont care how you find comfort
In this random and uncaring world
If it doent harm you or another
I encourage any peace you can keepThe only part of faith and belief
I can always disagree with
Is that which harms or shames
Or forces itself onto anotherI am not an unkind person
Some even call me empathetic
My lack of belief and faith
Doesnt make me a less caring human.

Being human hurts peoples feelings
When I treat you like I wanna be treated
Golden rule doen't account for difference
When I treat you as you expect
Platinum rule doesnt teach difference
When I act without reflecting
I'm almost guarenteed to hurt another
There is no rule for just being ourselves
No rule that will stop unintentional hurt
So like a gentle bull in a china shop
I am myself but try not to harm
I know being me is right for me
But may not be what others need.