I was a shape
to be carved
with a sculptor’s knowing hands,
emerging from alabaster white
into sharp relief,
bright scandalous technicolor,
cherries in the snow.
This is who I really am.
My breasts adorned with crystals,
my hips overflowing
from the curvaceous narrowing of my waist
into abundant fans of feminine plushness,
punctuated by a skimpy g-string of jewels;
I am everything
that I was never supposed to be:
a woman with power.
Glamour was a spell,
sensuality a witches brew.
I became a fashionable bitch
who walked the catwalk of her own shadow;
I embraced the dark goddess
who lived inside me.
By the heat of my careful alchemy,
lines blurred between fantasy and reality,
dream and life.
I danced across the stage of life,
big energy, a woman writ large,
a high octane Sorceress
soaring like a star
through the heavens.