Adonis Diaries

Archive for the ‘women’ Category

Not her first, her last, or her only 

She loves you now, what else matters?

Bob Marley

You may not be her first, her last, or her only.

She loved before she may love again.

But if she loves you now, what else matters?


She’s not perfect—

You aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together

But if she can make you laugh, and cause you to think twice,

And admit to being human and making mistakes,

Hold onto her and give her the most you can.


She may not be thinking about you every second of the day,

But she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break—her heart.

So don’t hurt her, don’t change her,

Don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give.


Smile when she makes you happy,

Let her know when she makes you mad,

And miss her when she’s not there.
 Bob Marley

How many women and men are needed to convince you of a rape act?

Rape is not sex.

Men don’t rape women because they need to get laid.

Rape is violence. It’s power and dehumanizing of women.

Many wonder why they (this group of men) raped girls while they could have consensual sex, but that’s not the point. They don’t want vanilla: they want violence. They want to humiliate, inflict pain and violate.

They want to take what they want without permission. Because they can.

We tip the nurse at the birth of the boy double the girl.

We say “go make your brother a cup of tea” and allow him to boss his sister around.

We raise our boys to do as they please. To pee in the street because “they can’t hold it”.

To sleep in and get breakfast to his bed instead of helping at home.

We praise his “masculinity” with the amounts of hearts he has broken because “boys will be boys”.

We forgive his fling with the neighbor’s girl because he is a boy while we beat the girl in submission, all her life.

We laugh at the stolen kisses in the staircase priding our “boy has grown” while we curse the girl who gave in.

But she is not ours so we don’t care. She is collateral damage.

We teach him that the girl he touched must be a slut, a sinner and if she has done it with you she must have done it with others.

We tell “our boy” not to cry or show kindness because a real man is tough and angry. We poison him with toxic thoughts and connect his masculinity to the level of hate and control he develops towards women.

We don’t tell him about consent.

When he has an urge it must be stilled. He can’t otherwise because “all men are like that, they are hunters by nature”.

We teach him that sex is something he does to women for his own pleasure only. We call them boys whereas they should be men.

We raise girls to comply. To become the perfect victim.

We teach her that her body is sin and must be hidden.

We teach her that anything is always her fault. She is sin. Her voice is 3awra. We teach her that she is a burden and not worthy of love, not worthy of autonomy over her body and life.

We tell her “all men are like that” when she comes home disrespected and defeated. We tell her “the boy likes you” when he is mean to her.

We tell her “your honor” is a membrane and that her life is worthless without it.

We cut her her genitals so she can be “controlled”, we make her bleed to prove virtue.

We tell her to be silent and do as she is told. We tell her to shrink so she is likable. We tell her to be silent so she can please. We tell her not to laugh too loud, to keep her legs closed, to dress to undress. To be a ghost.

It takes 100 girls to convince you he is a rapist and just 1 guy to convince you she is a slut.

Patriarchy is the reason for violence against women. Patriarchy is actually safeguarded by women. Break the cycle. Step out of it.

Start at the root. Raise your children differently.

Change the laws that enable rape culture and the dehumanizing of women.

Give women equality to men by law and enforce it. We have to stop being a society that hates and fears women so much.

Have you been able to remember any worthy kisses?

Lips raw with love?

A warm smile that made me laugh again?

My arm your arm…?

 Charles Bukowski·

Little dark girl with
kind eyes
When it comes time to
use the knife
I won’t flinch and
I won’t blame
As I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
I won’t blame you,

“I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I 
offered you what was left of

And I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights

Our bodies spilled together
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever

Your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh

Little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
Mine and I won’t use it
– Charles Bukowski

Mostly demons are found in Love?

Of Love and other demons

During Europe Middle Age, over 50,000 women were burned alive as witches.

Mainly women were submitted to be exorcised.

In the French translated “De l’amour et autre demons” by late Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the 12 year-old girl Sierva Maria was locked up and harassed by exorcism procedures.

I am extracting the French translation of a few lines from one of the sonnets of Garcilaso de la Vega, a soldier who died young at war and wrote 40 sonnets, 3 églogues, 2 élegies and 5 songs to a Portuguese girl who was Not a beauty, and married some else and even died before him:

O doux attraits pour mon malheur trouvés

Entre vos mains, enfin, je m’abandonne óu je sais que je mourrai

Afin qu’à moi seul il soit prouvé comment sur le vaincu frappe l’épée

Que s’apaisent celles que pour toi j’ai versées (les larmes)

Quand je demeure a contempler mon état et vois le chemin óu m’ont conduit tes pas

Je mourrai, car sans fourbe je suis donné à celle qui saura me perdre et m’achever

Iconic Marlene Monroe? She does write poetry?

Here are 5 particularly poignant fragments from the book.

On travelling by bus to Salinas:

I was the only person
woman with about
Sixty Italian fisherman…such charming gentleman…
And (they hoped) fish were
Waiting for them.

Some could hardly speak English.
Not only do I love Greeks (illegible)

I love Italians.
They’re warm, lusty and friendly as hell—

I’d love to go to Italy someday

On sailors:
I saw a lot of lonely young sailors

Who looked too young to be so sad.

They reminded me of
young slender trees still growing and  painful

On trees:
Sad sweet trees—
I wish for you—rest
but you must be wakeful

On love:
My love sleeps besides me—
in the faint light…
but he will look like this when he is dead
Oh unbearable fact inevitable
yet sooner would I rather his love die
than/or him?

And marriage:
I guess I have always been
deeply terrified to really be someone’s wife
since I know from life
one cannot love another,
ever, really

Not a girl of Half Passions?

I translated from French

© Eve@w. posted this Sept. 3, 2013
I am not a girl of half passion.
I dive in the void as birds that still can’t fly do.
I fell in love and I suffered.
I didn’t despise enough…
Hate was never my master.
I preferred the beating to the blows.
I fell a thousand times.
Only to get up one more time.
When we learn to walk, this is how we do.
We advance, one step at a time.
This is a long road.
I chose the obsessions: They invade me.
It feels soft and round in the stomach.
And It palpitates.
I would like to be able to think in cycles.
I have never appreciated the lukewarm behaviors.
It is erased.
The red heat ravages all on its passage.
It whirls toward the sky.
I don’t like the halves: I want all.
I want it complete.
I want it grand.
I learned to keep my balance on a tightrope.
And I forget to prepare any safety nets

Turning a new leaf at 16?

Isn’t it too soon?

Was the boy quick also ?

Was Death too impatient?

Do you think it is feasible to turn a new leaf in your life, unless your deficient body forces upon you an alternative world view?

Is it possible to turn a new leaf without much effort and a change in a life style?

Do we turn a new leaf before we come to grip that life is Not forever?

Maggie Mae posted this poem:

“Oh young, on the day she turns over a new leaf,

Sun-damaged veins, shriveled death

Six-feet to go, to sleep, to walk in to her dreams,

Flat-lined sex, drawn out of virgin delirium

Strawberry fields in fast decay, on the day she turns,

Sixteen nights after the drunken man is fast asleep

On the edge, on metal terror pumping through her veins

This is the one, the hidden light, night fury flies past her eyes

Everything is tight, blood crushes blood,

Through lifeless young eyelids she cries, he is too fast,

A shrivelled raisin on black top

Oh young, that night, and what it means, the night takes,

The air rips open, stealing her lungs on the day she turns.

About Maggie Mae

“I write because I must”.  I am a poet of dark imagery.

I write what I feel and how I see the world at given moments.

I love connecting with other writers and seeing life through their eyes, (in words).

If you like what you find here, please check out my chapbook, Some Things Ache In The Dark.

Note: I am Not sure I comprehended that story, though I have felt it. Send me a word of how you understood this poem: various cultures have varied alternative point of view

Break the Chain”. A song?

Lyrics by Tena Clark.  Music by Tena Clark/Tim Heintz
I raise my arms to the sky
On my knees I pray I’m not afraid anymore
I will walk through that door
Walk, dance, rise
Walk, dance, rise
I can see a world where we all live Safe
And free from all oppression
No more rape or incest, or abuse
Women are not a possession
You’ve never owned me, don’t even know me
I’m not invisible, I’m simply wonderful
I feel my heart for the first time racing
I feel alive, I feel so amazing
I dance cause I love
Dance cause I dream
Dance cause I’ve had enough
Dance to stop the screams
Dance to break the rules
Dance to stop the pain
Dance to turn it upside down
It’s time to break the chain, oh yeah
Break the Chain Dance, rise Dance, rise
In the middle of this madness, we will stand
I know there is a better world
Take your sisters and your brothers by the hand
Reach out to every woman and girl
This is my body, my body’s holy
No more excuses, no more abuses
We are mothers, we are teachers,
We are beautiful, beautiful creatures
I dance cause I love
Dance cause I dream
Dance cause I’ve had enough
Dance to stop the screams
Dance to break the rules
Dance to stop the pain
Dance to turn it upside down….

Produced by Eve Ensler and V-Day, directed by Tony Stroebel, written and produced by Tena Clark with music by Tena Clark and Tim Heintz

Have ever felt you are walking on air?

Note: this is a long story/song that spanned almost 3 decades. I cut it short in this post.

I should have told Barbara (Written in 2003 and posted on 2008)

I called up Barbara and I invited myself to stay overnight at her apartment.

She had many friends.

She was attached at the moment to a fashionable young man,

Working in fashion and with fashion, but they had problems.


She appeared depressed and disappointed and not in the mood for me.

Her TV was on 24 hours.  I slept and woke up with the TV on.


I visited her six years later during my second extended trip to the USA:

Barbara’s sister Sue had told me that Barbara was married and living in Oklahoma City.

I met Barbara at Thanksgiving and she did not look the Barbara of my vision.


Her skin looked darker, her face emaciated,

Down to earth, resigned and decked in simple blue jeans and an old black sweater.

She was married to a full-blooded American Indian, herself a half-blooded,

A soft spoken husband, a polite artist who toured the USA exhibiting his paintings.


She stayed at home designing jewelry and managing her man’s business.

I accepted her invitation for a Thanksgiving lunch.

I went down to Oklahoma City for an important and specific purpose of mine:

I was determined to tell Barbara my secret.


I went down with my steady girlfriend at the time.

Barbara’s eyes had an ironic shine looking at my oriental short friend.

She asked my friend all kinds of questions about our relationship,

How we met and what are our plans.


She said to me: “You know, someone needs news about your friend”.

She meant that her sister needed to know the whereabouts of her ex-husband.

I had lost track of the whereabouts of my friend too and could not be of much help.


Barbara was entitled to know the truth,

That the first time she walked with me,

She made me feel that I was the most glamorous guy in town.

But I did not tell Barbara the truth.


I don’t recall that I talked during my two hours stay at Thanksgiving.

Maybe it did not feel right at that moment

But I should have persevered on my initial decision:

This truth was hers no matter what.


She could be eighty, but age does not erase the feeling,

That to my young eyes,

She was the most glamorous woman I set my eyes on.


She could be a hundred, but age does not change the fact,

That Barbara made me once walk on air.

They think they had it: Exclusive Rights

A common behavior for President and CEO

Exclusive Rights (Written in 1998)

1.   I’m mad.

The President made my hand

Touch his crotch.

I just discovered that

He did it with many other women.

Many less beautiful than me.

Many downright ugly.

2.   I’m mad.

The President grabbed my breasts.

They were young, round, and stone hard.

I’m finding out that

He did it with so many others.

Many were flat chested.

Many right down sagging.

3.   I’m mad,

Very mad now.

I didn’t mind then what He did.

I may have been flattered, I think.

I was honored, definitely.

He is more than My President:

He is the First Stud.

4.   I’m mad.

Studs have no rights over non studs.

They may be spared a slap.

A swift, ringing slap.

I have the right to be mad.

I have the right to claim

Exclusive rights too.




August 2020

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