Ms. 29 Elizabeth Poetry: Your Fantasy Motorcycle by Margaret Leora Workman; Warponie Art
Would they ever give you a motorcycle
to travel across the ocean?
Please don’t be convinced
and say that every situation is minced.
anyway. So can you change it?
Didn’t you want a motorcycle?
I like motorcycles- Think of the fun!
Not the mun
Oh… they do?
Oh…they are practical
and I am just a sal
to think a motorcycle is needed for fun.
Why do you believe that you shouldn’t?
Just to please them
and to stay in and be in the know.
Okay I am just a bow
lo, not really though.
I thought we could travel the ocean
with your motorcycle of leisure
without measure-you could be the guide!
But they have convinced you of the incorrect
and deceitful ruler of penance and shame.
Oh, they told you that you are the holy one
so that you cannot have love or fun,
they like to control you hun’
and make you in charge of that false shame
that is to blame
for your closet hiding.
Yes it is the game of ‘Whatever You Want’. Sir, that is the name.
Where you are the employee
for life-believing that you are the holy one because they tell you that regularly.
And you want to keep your limbs
or your will.
FIY, it will disappear into the distance and they will be riding it there
against yours.
But no matter,
that’s what you have chosen
because you decided to choose
to be a closet hider and not a rider
because they said that was what
had been decided already
that you are the holy one
so that you can bask in that glory
of that lie filled story.
Do you dream of the ocean
while you type for them?
Do they tell you that you are the right type for them?
Could you leave at any time
and play a different game or rhyme?
But it would have to be right on time
so you stay in the closet
its easy and pleasy,
except a motorcycle doesn’t fit;
maybe then you imagine it
turning the engine on and riding out
just what is that compass all about?
The one that states my case
and yours-oh Mr. Lonely
What about me you ask?
What about you! We are still at that loo of lewdness.
Speaking about you and your friends
who are just across those bends.
The ones who I can’t see.
But you have them memorized obviously.
But that favor is not bestowed upon me
because you never seem to know me or what I am about.
You are ghastly.
But why am I shocked?
You are like the rest
even though you said to me that you were the best
for me
because you wanted to be a ‘We’
and not an ‘I’.
But they give you that ‘I’ and the eye…
and I thought that you were here for me
because you said
because you made me believe you
while you used your lucky charm
and weren’t like them who cause harm
and decay
but they get to hear you bray
your tidings of mass confusion
all through out the day
so that you could weigh
yourself against all of their suitors as well.
What was it like
to be on that group bike
and the alone hike
and have all that you wanted.
Then your story changed
and you were never here for me like that
in that way.
I never made you bray
to that extent.
It was too straight with me
and you like it bent.
You just had to check and see
if I was someone who could be added in.
But with me nothing adds up
and its never equal to your death of inequality
I was never the one just as you had said
It was my fault that I baked that bread.
I see you are protective of your closet
and that you are set
to never have that motorcycle
the one that I had wanted you to have.
How much was that typewriter?
The one that you bought with your imaginary soul
so that you could be enslaved by their bowl
of cherries and hyssop.
I have never had one and I never will
I already know how to type because I have my own will
And I learned how with out all of that hype
that you still pleasantly display, so frill.
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