Modern Prometheus becomes the Little Stranger – M.A. Morris

So now we know,
You told me I wasn’t,
But I was—
Your creation.

Said you loved me
Just the way I was—
But was it true?

Yes, I was perfect
Just the way I was—
You said,
But you didn’t care for:
My curly hair,
My dresses,
My high heels,
My red lipstick.

So, I became a cut out,
A sewn together woman
Of the rest of my parts
With the parts you inserted.
Then electrified and brought back
To life by a love you claimed
Was for the true me.

Now the parts you inserted
Die away, shriveling at the lack
Of your electricity.
I stumble,
A stiff-legged walk to your door,
Shuck this graying shit and warm myself
By the fire I create to burn
These rigor mortised parts.
Thus, I become something more akin
To myself once again—
That little stranger
With curly hair,
Wearing dresses,
High heels,
And signature whore red—
I become
My little one.


I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement.  I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing

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