The Super Queen

This isn’t solace, merely an interpretation
in this urban wilderness kingdom.
The queen metamorphoses
into a brand new semi-formal ensemble
that trumps the teacup poodlewomen.
Her black, black cocktail dress, whirl-pooling
the ocean of soft flesh and fabrics
which hide their carcinogenic organs
stained with bubblegum flavored choices

Psh!
I’m simply a fucking coward
with an egotistical-alter, mightier than I,
who introduces herself only when secure enough
to identify again as the Super Queen.

But while the queen bites her nails
over bad boys and body composition,
I am preoccupied with possible cosmoses.
Dark eyes dead set on the dark-ass sky,
detonated so infinitely with night glitter,
until siphoned by Charybdis into more deadspace
which enunciates better than I ever could.

 

Original Poetry by Gabrielle Lang
Original Photography found on Flickr by Vanessa Vokey (who has some AMAZING photography)

Untitled

I wish you’d stop walking through mirrors.

Your reflection was never
the problem.

The problem

 is the third degree burns
received upon reentry.

You want
ease that comes easy,
even a little foreboding,

far off
when normalcy felt right,
when the ecosystem
wasn’t afraid of you too.

I too have been receding some time now
and everyday I look down,
to see my toenails reflecting oracle,

painted on
just as worn passionate passion fruit
as yesterday.

So, stop creating images,
and just show me the now,
where your hip bones extend,
where your elbows bow down,
where the cavities in your chest
cave in rhythm with me.

Original Poetry written by Gabrielle Lang