Wounded Man

Wounded man, wounded man,

Allow me to explore your scars.

To dip my feet in the laceration of your heart,

To be the traveler of you.

 

Wounded man, wounded man,

Allow me to explore your scars.

To venture through the tales of war waged between gods.

 

Wounded man, wounded man,

Allow me to explore your scars.

To emerge with flesh dripping from the blood of you;

Then to paint the sins of an injured man onto the canvas of my heart.

 

Wounded man, wounded man of mine.

 

—O. D. M

Breathless

 

Breath….

Breath is what slips from our lungs

When eyes behold the boundless beauty of your dance.

Yes, entranced we are,

But if you believe our awe resides in the grace of your feet as they leap from this earth,

And of you joining the angels in their flight to kneel at God’s throne;

Or when your legs rise like a wave

Reaching to kiss the Heavens for only but a minute,

You are mistaken.

Breathless we have become,

For no longer is the girl whose heart once seemed a burdensome load.

Breathless we will ever be,

For here,

On our stage,

Dancing with a grace claimed by no other,

Sways a woman who moves souls.

…Breathless.

—O. D. M

Who’s the Prettiest? Part 2

There are hours when we are monsters,

Seconds when the claws are shown,

Minutes when our lips are drawn back to reveal fangs.

And in those hours of horrific transformation,

We see no hope for redemption;

For Dr. Jekyll has now shifted into Mr. Hyde.

But even in the brutality of our lashes and in the viciousness of our bites,

We are still human.

-O. D. M