Poetry by Pam

If 20 sit ups paid for your sideways glance when I danced across the floor pretending to ignore toes that were sore in shoes that lit up fresh sparkling diamonds dripping like the dew from wildflowers If 20 sit ups the reason your eyes waned could not contain beads that drained as if sweat could demand respect and repeat mathematical equations and symetrical diagrams ripped the moonlit sky on nights that make you believe that good smelling breath was captured in bottles sold in stores If 20 sit ups equated to your quiet approval attention deficit removal waiting for just the right time I put on my red dress slip on my high heels and some of that sweet perfume Oh you talented brother as if hard work and lace were the perfect compliment to your my oh my as if you studied the pulse of my one, two, three matched melody per melody and together those repetitious 20 sit ups became our mantra for a future of improvement

I heard you, I saw And breathed a sigh of relief Because it was finally over I survived From time to time I'd look back in regret Longing and missing Looking for something in nothing I framed a picture At the front door of my mind A special place Deserving of defeat and dignity Escape could have been sweeter But pleasure ensued from Crossing the threshold And learning from my mistake

In order to be victorious one must be receptive to everything good, hard, easy, and bad accepting the beauty of the challenging Stepping up the ante listening to your heart pursuing inventive goals inspired by more than art In order to be victorious failure is pleasing to the eye because most of all accomplishments come from training yourself to at least try

I imagine if I were to know the specific date of my death that i'd enter a race not caring about the outcome but giving it my best anyway i'd not care who heard me sing or who liked me or who didn't i'd protest and be heard i'd relax and enjoy i'd Exist and redefine the meaning of existence But most importantly i'd want to remember the smell of fresh roses so i'd plant an entire rose garden and dedicate it to life itself

2000 years from now I want you to understand the meaning of life and find a cure for terminal illness don't let me find you in the same spot by the door or i'll wag my index finger and shake my head and talk about you mercilessly because you didn't accomplish what i'd set out to do 2000 years ago.

It wasn't me; it was the dress that punished men giving them just enough to look at but not enough to enjoy. The character flaws in the lace weren't enough to prevent the intent of dissatisfaction. They still pursued. Still attracted to the dress that showed just enough to entice but not enough to invite. It wasn't me; I insist it was the dress because had it been me, they would have known that I couldn't tolerate their suggestiveness. But I refuse to limit my outer appearance to tame them. They'll just have to accept no for an answer.

The day sought to compromise her perfectionist tendencies. Little piles would build serving as constant reminders of her flaws. Comprehension refused to support such acts of disregard. Once again, her entropic desires prevailed compelling her to deny the signs of a never-ending cycle which should have registered failure; instead, it issued a challenge that she could not refuse. She began to walk through the existing barriers with a single rake revealing the beauty of accomplishment.