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“You won’t make it on pretty alone” Kitty von Quimm says



There are three us there
Three of us sitting in a single line

with our legs spread
and our shoulders back

facing a large long ballet style mirror,
in a small theater somewhere in Oakland.

I look from her reflection to my own and in the light streaming in from above I  can see every flaw in my thunderous thighs, the repulsing fat of my abdomen, the ample flesh of my arms and yes more than one chin.

I almost smile at her remark. I’ve accepted my body but I’ve never thought of pretty as an option. Well that’s a lie. With clothes on, well the right clothes on I am beautiful. But like this…


“Burlesque is about attitude. They want it.  They want all of this” Juicy D. Light says from my right as she runs her hands up her full figured form. “And you can’t be afraid to give it to them.”


For a moment I am afraid.
There are no lines here, no biased boundaries, no entity to fight against, no rules to bend or break, no lines to refuse to follow.


There is just me


just me and the music
the stage and the crowd

The crowd who will not judge me according to my body, nor the false stylized standards of beauty that society has to its own detriment declared as fact.

No, they will judge me on something far more important…
my creativity
my fearlessness
my self expression
my ability to shock & amaze
my mastery over my sexuality and sensuality
my ability to command their attention and make them let me entertain them.


I am thinking this as Juicy counts off the sexy eight, as I watch us move together our left shoulders dipping to the right and our bodies following it back out.

I am feeling this as I shimmy and shake down low before slapping my thighs and pushing myself back up forcefully.

And as my mane of dreadlocks flips up and back over my shoulders I see this
I see this creativity & sensuality,
this expression of a fierce and fearless sexuality
I see this in my own reflection.
and I can’t help but growl a little.


Kitty is right I won’t make it on pretty alone
But that’s not a problem for me because I’m not pretty.

I am fucking gorgeous
I am fucking fabulous
I am fucking fierce



I am Miss Magnoliah Black~~~
                           Let me entertain you~~~
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I couldn't  bring myself to put into words what I was feeling while we were together. Because whoever read it would hate you.  And no matter how much I would verbally acknowledge that it was only my side of the story I would write it like it was the ultimate truth.

Because for me it is the truth

I have to do this... get this out so I can wash our blood off my hands and be done with it.  I will accept my role of excutionor of our relationship, of your sweet innocence, I will be the villan if I must.  If it means gaining my freedom, my sanity I will slit the throat of what we called out love, I will burn the corpse and I will bury it. 
 

 
But you know what?  Despite all the horrible things


I thank you for showing me how strong I truly am
I thank you for forcing me into a corner. So I could learn to fight with my back against the wall
I thank you for showing me what hunger feels like.  It will never again catch me unguarded
I thank you for showing me what lies love can tell.  You cleared my vision, cured me of a childish fancy
I thank you for shaping me, hardening me, putting me through the fire.  I am now crucible, I am now uncrushable.
I thank you for stripping me of everything that I once was.  Because what I was was not fit to be measured.
I thank you for helping/forcing me to become what I am today.   Because what I am today is without limitation.




There was a woman I met. 
A crone tucked away near the steps of the cathedral in Jackson Square
I was 17... it was three months before I had even laid eyes on you. 

She told me that we would met. 
That you would help me by hurting me.  That we would have three children, and that we would be married before I finished school, that I would leave you some day because you would turn me into a woman but you yourself would remain a boy.  That you would lead me to the crossing and I would leave and take my children with me.



I thought I had gotten around it because even though she described you to a perfectly I became infertile, I never finished school, we never got married.

But she was right. 
The children were misinterpreted by me. 
They are talents, gifts and you did give me three they are Strength, Courage & Wisdom
We were never married in a public office or before our peers but we exchanged vows.  You before your god and me before mine
I did indeed become a woman while you remained a boy.
I am at the crossing now I carry my children in my blood, in my heart, in my spirit.





I had a dream the night before I moved out
one dream, vivid and stark and frightened me at first
but I understand it now

I was a dead woman on the river's bank
I had stepped into the ferryman’s boat cradling  three golden orbs
I could see you standing upon the shore watching me slip away into the fog...
the ferryman whispered in my ear to wash my hands, to wash my hands
and I do
leaving ribbons of red in my wake.
and as I washed I watch you.
You have neither moved nor breathed.  And I am begging you to give me a sign
to tell me something, to show some emotion so that I can jump ship and swim to you
but the ferryman grabs my shoulder and tells me to turn away, to turn away lest I become a pillar of salt
and I do

I look out in front of me and I am blinded there is an aching pain as the orbs glow and encase me.  And I am lifted up and out and I feel everything at once a moment of clarity that I can not remember or put into words no matter how hard I try.


Last Saturday
Right as I was leaving...
as I stood in the entry way...
as removed my key from its chain and placed it in the bowl by the door
I faltered.

my feet were heavy
my heart ached
and I looked for a sign

I heard Ron's voice from the doorway, the drawling nonchalance, calming, soothing like this was any other day.
"Don't look back Renie you'll turn into a pillar of salt"
and I turned around
and I faced the day
the gentle rain outside
a river falling from the sky
free falling
free like me
and I screamed one short, violent cry as the door clicked close behind me.

And in it was sadness, and happiness, and pain and pleasure and joy and relief and
Strength
Courage
and Wisdom

and it hurt... but now I can see the world stretch open wide and vast before me. Full as the harvest moon, ripe as the perfect fruit and I am reintroduced to me, reborn in this reality, realized fully and finally at peace, finally happy to be me...

finally  free.


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Mx Rawiyah

November 2011

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