Sophia in Wonderland

We have deserted ourselves
And descended into strange Snow Whites
And Sleeping Beauties, consumed
By the misfortunes of pharmacy poisons

Yes, we had dragons
But they did us no harm
Unlike your poisonous concoctions and
Pesky mirroring of mirrors

Now, when the lids are open
If ever they should open,
We shudder, for there is
No longer a world of Christmas lights
And sensual men and sweet children

It is a world of vomit and sweat
And paralyzing fear
A perpetual fog
A miry grayish-black swill fog

Our minds and veins
Are screaming with warnings
But you say,” It is all in the mirror”
As you look into your mirror mirror
You brutal serial-Pharma-paid killer

You vane and horrid, inhumane bastards
Dealing out death, taking pride in choking life
And your prize: our wages and Sanity
And your sanctuary is in our organs

Moment by moment
Our moments are erased
It is “all in our heads”
And it must be erased

Pharma life is a death-life
Preservation with a shelf life
Not fit for disposal
Disposal would be too kind

Our shinning knights
Hung by ties and smiles
Tell us how well we are:
Poison apples, deadly spindles, and all

Then a thrill – an awakening
Yes it was a pill a mistaken pill
That eased the ache and made us all wake
And we were both ferocious and tender

Re-united with our dragons
Awakened Beauties, well rested
Not awakened by harm or charm
But kissed by dragons,

Then woodsman came,
And With all his might he
Crashed his axe into clarity of our sight
And we scatter and vanish and succumb

The woodsman did not strike to kill
But to deadened us to into slaves
As we know, my ladyships
Deadened is worse than death

So what shall be our endeavor?
The Pharma mortician courts us without
Mirth or melody – mercilessly
Unlike our dragons: deadly and annoying

How shall we emerge from our
Various states of life-death spells?
Should we return to earth-clay form?
And re-shape?

In a nutshell, no,
We love our fucking dragons!
They hiss and howl
And keep poisonous snakes at bay

And these monsters with whipping tongues
Free samples and power o’er our will
Who shall slay them?
Where are our shining knights?

My ladies, our men too,
Have swallowed poison
They cannot ejaculate
Nor see their way straight

And in our anaorgasmic state
Do we not love them as our children?
For we can have no children
Whilst on the ills and messes of pills

Remember the lovers
Rolling on the knolls
The beauty of the man
His warm hands on your breasts

His fingers filtered through your hair
His body so beautiful and warm
When you still could feel warmth
When you could know “feel”

Remember when he slipped inside you
And his breath beat hot whispers
Your face in synchronicity
With his rhythm, Remember?

Are we not children of God?
Were we not made
To make perfect love
And strive for higher selfhood?

If we make a plan of escape
Will we even go?
Were we made to be raped and raped
By skills of hunters and pills of doctors?

No, my ladies, we are dragons.

In my other posts, I have mentioned feeling slightly edgy, somewhat ill-tempered, there’s no way to be poetic about it, I have been suffering in silence about PMDD for the past two years.

Nearly to the point of madness, I thought it wise to seek treatment. After all this is the 21st century. I thought my suffering was needless. How wrong I was.

As it turns out there has been little research about women’s hormonal imbalances. If I had known the doctor would threaten to 51/50 me, I would have not dressed so beautifully on Monday. I would have snarled and cried and gnashed my teeth as to earn the right to lose all my rights and be locked up. I ask you! Heavy bleeding, migraines, depression, irritability to the point of rage (notice I have not mentioned harming myself or someone else) bloating, and other horrendous symptoms that men would gladly hurl themselves off very tall buildings in order to escape. Crazy? You idiot!

I took a deep breath in and shook my head in a rather standard way as to say, “Oh Dear doctor, I have met you many a time in many different guises and simply cannot be bothered with your misogynistic diagnosis that I am simply another crazy chick that needs Zoloft.

Since PMDD has been recorded in history books as far back as Hippocrates, one would think that I might garner some relief. But no, I suffer in silence.

Won’t you all come forward ladies? So that we do not destroy are children and make our men leave. Am I all alone? Is there no-one else.

I bought a lovely perfume that day. Fortunately, I was able to fight the stick without assistance from a “Doctor”. It was an allergic reaction to soap. Now I smell beautiful again. Help me, please.

A guy at work has, lets just say, been “investing lots of time in me”. I enjoy his company but I don’t want to date him.

1. He cuts me down in subtle ways.
2. We speak different languages.
3. I’m no mans breader.

The girls at work are giggling and meddling in our affairs. Now they’ve dared him to ask me out. NOoooooooooooooo!! The worst thing is, there is a cultural barrior. And I’m so over the latin lovers. What could be worse than Italians? All other “romantics” that have six girlfriends and a wife.

The question is – what if he has the other glass slipper. Nah, it couldn’t be.

Worse yet, I work with all Latinos. They’ll scream racist! Loser! I’m too old for this crap.