Hot like asphalt
Hard like concrete
Stormie says,
Eight years, you know?
That's almost a third of my life, hey
I can hear Eastside in her voice
I ain't going back, never
I can't go back
I wish I didn't know what was coming next
I'll run
I'll leave this place
Even if I never see my kids again
I ain't going back
The soft curves of her body
Are covered with ink
A gargoyle with angel's wings on her arm
Her lower back lined
In some way that reminds me of
Harp back chairs at my parents table
Such are the protective symbols
Of the California Institute for Women
People don't know what I've done
You can't see it
There's this other bitch in me
I have to beat the evil down
I have to control that part of me
But I don't want to
'Cause it feels so good to let her go
I suggest to her that knowing
Owning one's dark side
Is a struggle many never attempt
I tell her we all have a shadow
Whether we are blind to it or not
Your struggle is a Warrior's struggle
That is how the path is walked
She softens
I think I see the girl she was
Before she ever dreamed of prison
Gone so fast I may have imagined it
She paints her lips red
Thin black line at their edges
And just before we leave the room
She leans over the dresser
Back straight
Bent at the waist
I am transfixed
Suddenly reminded of my own Dark nature
As she kisses the mirror
Leaving a pout the rich bitches
In Beverly Hills
Would pay a thousand dollars a lip for
Along with her name and the date
I know the autograph is for the street
Just as I know
Her pose while writing it was for me
Stormie
February 2, 2K7
ranchZenrodeo