if only I were as pure snowwy white as my hydrangeas ..

But I don't wish to be.. 

if it had not been for the taint on my skin ..

the sores that live in color .. 

I would not be wise.

Pure was naive and inexperienced

His gift, my curse. 

Please explain to me, why does a woman wait? 

As soon as it's given

He breezes like autumn spring 

any season except summer's wind

She's left burnt like Alabama churches 

In the 50s and 60s 


But don't fault that brown-eyed baby girl 

When did she even have a chance to learn?

Tell me, who could she even learn from? 

No one ..

Daddy was gone Mama was deaf

Left blind was Brown eyes and very lost

Who could she learn from?

No one because she was saving herself. 

Hoarded the possession he yearned to covet 

Only to get her innocence revoked by a wolf in sheep's garments 


Like her hydrangeas. 


Like her hygrangeas. 

She thought he was pure. 

A conniving disguise 

that led to her demise. 

But now she's wise. 

No regrets.

Living in voluminous strides of reds and purples  

Pure white, she is not. 

She needed the pain and prick of each color to help her grow.

Garden of lessons 

Tear filled hose that waters every plant

Wisdom tree mountain high roots 

Branches of a lion's strength


As the sun 

But not as the snow