Toni Barca's Blog
January 27, 2018
AN OPEN LETTER TO CATHERINE DENEUVE AND THE 100 by Toni Barca
#MeToo
Madame Deneuve.
You don’t know me nor will you ever know the millions of victims that have undergone unwanted touches, “stolen kisses” and male pestering—The slow insidious levels of assault you claim as,” Not so serious” have left deep spiritual wounds that for many will take years to heal-
This supposition that boys will be boys attitude ends now!
Until the #MeToo movement, men could do what they wanted without fear of repercussion.
They were the Untouchables who touched us all.
I am Parisian born, as is my mother. I write to you now because of the dismissive ness of a letter you felt strong enough to sign authored by a woman who wrote, “Khomeini, Sade and me”. What blows my mind is that this author claims she found her sexual liberation via Le Marquis de Sade—the most repugnant misogynist I can imagine.
There is nothing Puritanical about the #MeToo force that has scattered the winds of change across this land transporting its power worldwide. Using social media to make the kind of fast and steady changes we have not seen since the French Revolution.
Your French-ness does not make you better than me nor does it make you better than my American sisters
–What propels my open letter to you is the fact that you and the 100 women choose to stand against us in shaming us for speaking out.
I decide not to allow you or anyone to ever have that kind of power. Your fame has gifted you with a responsibility, which you have chosen to misuse but to what end?
To judge us?
To bully us?
To make us feel less than because we found the courage to stand one by one and cry out #MeToo in support of each other. With the kind of solidarity that say, “ girl you’re not alone me too, I was raped, sexually bullied, harassed, forced to, talked into, told not to tell—“
Women like you are why we have had to deal with men like this. You encourage it, foster it, play with it while more of us suffer from it—this supposed men’s pestering is a slow insidious form of stealing our autonomy, I call it a lobotomy of the spirit, the mind, and the body.
There is this weird perception that France is so much more ahead in love. That is a lie, well fed by media coverage on a myth that is a pleasant fiction that now has become a damaging opposition to the #MeToo force that aims to heal the casualties of this war.
Yes, Madame Deneuve – this has been a war against females for 10,000 years.
Jeanne D’Arc(Joan of Arc) was not immune to the molestation of her person and most likely her rape before she was burned at the stakes. Why do I bring Jeanne D’Arc? Because she is the perfect Archetypical example of your own countrywoman hunted down until she was destroyed.
Destroyed because she had found her voice through God’s voice. Her power frightened the men who saw her as a wild and feral creature - A warrior who broke every rule by simply saying that as God’s messenger she was an equal.
Camus puts it best, “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."
Her existence was an act of rebellion. The patriarchy could not and would not allow this to go on. You see suddenly her very existence inspired young women who began dreaming of a different way of being female in a world that had bullied them to silence. —She still captures the imagination of generations. .
The patriarchy could not and would not allow this to go on. Upon Jeanne‘s brutal death. The message reverberated across the land and across time —never raise your voice against us; your fathers, sons, uncles, and husbands nor your church! It was a mass collective castration of the female psyche.
Do you even understand the complexity of these seemingly innocent touches and caresses and how they slowly chip away at a child’s, a young woman’s sense of self worth?
How long will you stand against us?
What is the shame you hide that precludes you from claiming your right to cry out in solidarity #MeToo? Have you hidden your trauma behind the veils of your self-deception. Is the shame to large to bear into the light of day?
This is beyond the scope of feminism. I claim and call myself a humanist- Shame has been used for eons to demand our silence. Based on nothing else but your ego you decided to stand against us and ridicule and dismiss our experiences as flimsy and puritanical.
It took us 10,000 years to gather the courage, the numbers, the power to raise our voices as one giant rage meant to stager and destroy a patriarchal system that not only brainwashed its sons, but its own daughters. You and the ones who stood behind you to sign this contemptuous letter devoid of truth, devoid of heart and compassion based on nothing but an arrogance that I can’t even wrap my head around. Such a stand is devoid of sense, of historical knowledge and compassion
I am not angry at you, Madame Deneuve I am sad and realize with a clarity that stagers me because now I realize from your response why this assault on us as little girls, as nubile girls, as teenagers, as young women, and as women – I understand how it lasted for so long—
Its women like you that raise boys into men that continuously think that there was nothing wrong in their behavior and that we were wrong for complaining, for accusing, for committing suicide rather than face the blame and shame game that so often befell our sex.
This is not a little thing, Madame Deneuve
This has been a psychological mind fuck that has plagued me and my sisters for the lengths of our existence and none of us have been left unscathed.
I still carry the flashbacks within me – these nameless, faceless men whose hands stole parts of my childhood and my young womanhood.
Memories that I should not have – memories like the one of my father ‘s business associate who thought that a 15 year old was good enough prey as he stuck his tongue down my throat. Is that what you mean, Madame Deneuve when you say that men should be allowed to steal kisses?
I recall myself shutting down but not before I fell into a strange shaking, fear filled, shame filled unable to tell because somehow I had brought this upon myself.
Or that men should be allowed to pester women- Does that include the vulgar cat calls coming from construction crews when I was 12,13,14,15, shall I go on? Subjected to the shaming and demeaning whistling and comments. I wanted to run for cover . Instead I walked quickly past the throngs of men with my head bowed failing o avoid the verbal and in some cases physical assaults( the quick touch that might arrive from one worker following me to the end of the block). Is that what you mean, by men should be allowed to pester women?
You mentioned how a man should not be hunted if he decides to fondle your knee.
Does that include being in a darkened theater at the age of 18 and my father sitting two seats ahead of me while I choose a seat for a better viewing when a man joined me and began fondling my knee gaining ground as his rubbed the inside of my thighs his fingers crawling up. . My inability to find my voice, frozen fear filled.
Praying it for him to stop and the realization that he would never stop. I stood upon trembling legs to join my father – afraid to tell him, afraid he would beat the hell of that man afraid because my father would end up in jail and that my accusations in the 1980s would be considered heresy. I know that Madame Deneuve because in high school, I had a dear friend who was in a love with a boy. One Saturday night she made the mistake of going to a party where her drink was spiked by the boy she loved. Before she knew it, her virginity was not taken by the one she loved but by 9 other footballs players who took turns on her. These boys were never suspended – She had to leave school. I never saw her again. So I knew that no mater what I said no one would believe me
Who are these 9 football players today?
But you think these are little events—that we have gone too far! Have we?
Shall i share the day I realized how damaged my psyche was by these “ little events”-
It was the day my father got off the phone with a business associate who had profusely apologized over some sexual moves he had made on me.
.
I had no idea what my father was talking about. Apparently something had happened but i had blacked out of my memory. A decade later I began the arduous task of excavating my subconscious searching for answers to the black outs in order to heal from the trauma I had endured again and again.
Sound dramatic? It was.
Must I add that in those excavations I recalled with clarity my molestation at the hands of relative now dead? .
what you don’t understand is that the #MeToo movement is not just about our sex. Its about sex used against innocence within that conversation lies the germination of a powerful force that will eradicate the shame that kept us quiet and will include every young boy, teen boy that has been used by males and females and bullied into things they did not want to do but were forced to do because an authority figure abused their power.
You see the #MeToo movement is not
about them and us—
We stand as one sex because when an individual is wounded
There is no male or female there is only us against them-
Those who do not stand with us do not understand that these vile acts.
stack like pyramid stones upon our hearts squeezing the promise of potential joy and freedom to be the best versions of ourselves.
These events are no small things but like drips of water and overtime have had the power to erode our autonomy and the #MeToo movement is here to prevent any future individual to ever undergo this kind of trauma and if they do- they will have the might of one voice when they point to their abuser.
It’s about the collective US.
That is our power!
Madame Deneuve.
You don’t know me nor will you ever know the millions of victims that have undergone unwanted touches, “stolen kisses” and male pestering—The slow insidious levels of assault you claim as,” Not so serious” have left deep spiritual wounds that for many will take years to heal-
This supposition that boys will be boys attitude ends now!
Until the #MeToo movement, men could do what they wanted without fear of repercussion.
They were the Untouchables who touched us all.
I am Parisian born, as is my mother. I write to you now because of the dismissive ness of a letter you felt strong enough to sign authored by a woman who wrote, “Khomeini, Sade and me”. What blows my mind is that this author claims she found her sexual liberation via Le Marquis de Sade—the most repugnant misogynist I can imagine.
There is nothing Puritanical about the #MeToo force that has scattered the winds of change across this land transporting its power worldwide. Using social media to make the kind of fast and steady changes we have not seen since the French Revolution.
Your French-ness does not make you better than me nor does it make you better than my American sisters
–What propels my open letter to you is the fact that you and the 100 women choose to stand against us in shaming us for speaking out.
I decide not to allow you or anyone to ever have that kind of power. Your fame has gifted you with a responsibility, which you have chosen to misuse but to what end?
To judge us?
To bully us?
To make us feel less than because we found the courage to stand one by one and cry out #MeToo in support of each other. With the kind of solidarity that say, “ girl you’re not alone me too, I was raped, sexually bullied, harassed, forced to, talked into, told not to tell—“
Women like you are why we have had to deal with men like this. You encourage it, foster it, play with it while more of us suffer from it—this supposed men’s pestering is a slow insidious form of stealing our autonomy, I call it a lobotomy of the spirit, the mind, and the body.
There is this weird perception that France is so much more ahead in love. That is a lie, well fed by media coverage on a myth that is a pleasant fiction that now has become a damaging opposition to the #MeToo force that aims to heal the casualties of this war.
Yes, Madame Deneuve – this has been a war against females for 10,000 years.
Jeanne D’Arc(Joan of Arc) was not immune to the molestation of her person and most likely her rape before she was burned at the stakes. Why do I bring Jeanne D’Arc? Because she is the perfect Archetypical example of your own countrywoman hunted down until she was destroyed.
Destroyed because she had found her voice through God’s voice. Her power frightened the men who saw her as a wild and feral creature - A warrior who broke every rule by simply saying that as God’s messenger she was an equal.
Camus puts it best, “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."
Her existence was an act of rebellion. The patriarchy could not and would not allow this to go on. You see suddenly her very existence inspired young women who began dreaming of a different way of being female in a world that had bullied them to silence. —She still captures the imagination of generations. .
The patriarchy could not and would not allow this to go on. Upon Jeanne‘s brutal death. The message reverberated across the land and across time —never raise your voice against us; your fathers, sons, uncles, and husbands nor your church! It was a mass collective castration of the female psyche.
Do you even understand the complexity of these seemingly innocent touches and caresses and how they slowly chip away at a child’s, a young woman’s sense of self worth?
How long will you stand against us?
What is the shame you hide that precludes you from claiming your right to cry out in solidarity #MeToo? Have you hidden your trauma behind the veils of your self-deception. Is the shame to large to bear into the light of day?
This is beyond the scope of feminism. I claim and call myself a humanist- Shame has been used for eons to demand our silence. Based on nothing else but your ego you decided to stand against us and ridicule and dismiss our experiences as flimsy and puritanical.
It took us 10,000 years to gather the courage, the numbers, the power to raise our voices as one giant rage meant to stager and destroy a patriarchal system that not only brainwashed its sons, but its own daughters. You and the ones who stood behind you to sign this contemptuous letter devoid of truth, devoid of heart and compassion based on nothing but an arrogance that I can’t even wrap my head around. Such a stand is devoid of sense, of historical knowledge and compassion
I am not angry at you, Madame Deneuve I am sad and realize with a clarity that stagers me because now I realize from your response why this assault on us as little girls, as nubile girls, as teenagers, as young women, and as women – I understand how it lasted for so long—
Its women like you that raise boys into men that continuously think that there was nothing wrong in their behavior and that we were wrong for complaining, for accusing, for committing suicide rather than face the blame and shame game that so often befell our sex.
This is not a little thing, Madame Deneuve
This has been a psychological mind fuck that has plagued me and my sisters for the lengths of our existence and none of us have been left unscathed.
I still carry the flashbacks within me – these nameless, faceless men whose hands stole parts of my childhood and my young womanhood.
Memories that I should not have – memories like the one of my father ‘s business associate who thought that a 15 year old was good enough prey as he stuck his tongue down my throat. Is that what you mean, Madame Deneuve when you say that men should be allowed to steal kisses?
I recall myself shutting down but not before I fell into a strange shaking, fear filled, shame filled unable to tell because somehow I had brought this upon myself.
Or that men should be allowed to pester women- Does that include the vulgar cat calls coming from construction crews when I was 12,13,14,15, shall I go on? Subjected to the shaming and demeaning whistling and comments. I wanted to run for cover . Instead I walked quickly past the throngs of men with my head bowed failing o avoid the verbal and in some cases physical assaults( the quick touch that might arrive from one worker following me to the end of the block). Is that what you mean, by men should be allowed to pester women?
You mentioned how a man should not be hunted if he decides to fondle your knee.
Does that include being in a darkened theater at the age of 18 and my father sitting two seats ahead of me while I choose a seat for a better viewing when a man joined me and began fondling my knee gaining ground as his rubbed the inside of my thighs his fingers crawling up. . My inability to find my voice, frozen fear filled.
Praying it for him to stop and the realization that he would never stop. I stood upon trembling legs to join my father – afraid to tell him, afraid he would beat the hell of that man afraid because my father would end up in jail and that my accusations in the 1980s would be considered heresy. I know that Madame Deneuve because in high school, I had a dear friend who was in a love with a boy. One Saturday night she made the mistake of going to a party where her drink was spiked by the boy she loved. Before she knew it, her virginity was not taken by the one she loved but by 9 other footballs players who took turns on her. These boys were never suspended – She had to leave school. I never saw her again. So I knew that no mater what I said no one would believe me
Who are these 9 football players today?
But you think these are little events—that we have gone too far! Have we?
Shall i share the day I realized how damaged my psyche was by these “ little events”-
It was the day my father got off the phone with a business associate who had profusely apologized over some sexual moves he had made on me.
.
I had no idea what my father was talking about. Apparently something had happened but i had blacked out of my memory. A decade later I began the arduous task of excavating my subconscious searching for answers to the black outs in order to heal from the trauma I had endured again and again.
Sound dramatic? It was.
Must I add that in those excavations I recalled with clarity my molestation at the hands of relative now dead? .
what you don’t understand is that the #MeToo movement is not just about our sex. Its about sex used against innocence within that conversation lies the germination of a powerful force that will eradicate the shame that kept us quiet and will include every young boy, teen boy that has been used by males and females and bullied into things they did not want to do but were forced to do because an authority figure abused their power.
You see the #MeToo movement is not
about them and us—
We stand as one sex because when an individual is wounded
There is no male or female there is only us against them-
Those who do not stand with us do not understand that these vile acts.
stack like pyramid stones upon our hearts squeezing the promise of potential joy and freedom to be the best versions of ourselves.
These events are no small things but like drips of water and overtime have had the power to erode our autonomy and the #MeToo movement is here to prevent any future individual to ever undergo this kind of trauma and if they do- they will have the might of one voice when they point to their abuser.
It’s about the collective US.
That is our power!
June 8, 2016
please review RECALL TODAY ON GOODREADS AND AMAZON.COM
PLEASE take a moment to write a review about RECALL. Let the world know why it is either a good or great read!
Does anyone want to start a book club for RECALL? Because in the rear of the books are a series of spiritual questions.
June 6, 2016
Muhammed Ali a family friend
I was lucky to break bread with Muhammed Ali in our house.
My dad worked with him on many projects. Meeting him was a powerful highlight in my young life. He teased me that his nose was prettier than mine. When he asked me if I'd marry, I said"No!"
He laughed and said, "if your not married by the time you're 19, I'm coming back to marry you!"
He had that gift to make everyone he met feel super special. He was the kindest of gentleman and though I know many will grieve his passing I'm happy for him. He's finally home and free!!
Sending you love, sweet rebel king. You shock up the world with your bright smile and irreverent power! Thank you❤️
My dad worked with him on many projects. Meeting him was a powerful highlight in my young life. He teased me that his nose was prettier than mine. When he asked me if I'd marry, I said"No!"
He laughed and said, "if your not married by the time you're 19, I'm coming back to marry you!"
He had that gift to make everyone he met feel super special. He was the kindest of gentleman and though I know many will grieve his passing I'm happy for him. He's finally home and free!!
Sending you love, sweet rebel king. You shock up the world with your bright smile and irreverent power! Thank you❤️
March 15, 2016
PLEASE FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM AND SHARE THE LINK WITH YOUR FRIENDS : )
https://www.instagram.com/buddhapower
https://www.instagram.com/buddhapower
February 18, 2016
The Kiss a hair brush for your Boudoir
UPDATE!!!
I am so excited to share with you the great news that I am now taking orders for this very special Tantric hair brush.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-galle...
I am so excited to share with you the great news that I am now taking orders for this very special Tantric hair brush.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-galle...
February 12, 2016
The Kiss a hair brush for your Boudoir
https://img0.etsystatic.com/122/0/348...
image
View on img0.etsystatic.com
Preview by Yahoo
Please, tell me if you would be excited to own this brush?
This brush is made by the same people who create these for FREE PEOPLE. Here is a link to that brush. What I did is have my own design placed because I felt that to attract of keep true love one should have that reflection on their boudoir table...what are your thoughts
Here is the link. Please share this info with your girly buddies:
Free People Hand Painted Wooden Brush
image
Free People Hand Painted Wooden Brush
Hand Painted Wooden Brush | Large wooden paddle brush, beautifully handpainted with a cool boho design. *By Gypsy Pea Magoo for Free People
View on www.freepeople.com
Preview by Yahoo
image
View on img0.etsystatic.com
Preview by Yahoo
Please, tell me if you would be excited to own this brush?
This brush is made by the same people who create these for FREE PEOPLE. Here is a link to that brush. What I did is have my own design placed because I felt that to attract of keep true love one should have that reflection on their boudoir table...what are your thoughts
Here is the link. Please share this info with your girly buddies:
Free People Hand Painted Wooden Brush
image
Free People Hand Painted Wooden Brush
Hand Painted Wooden Brush | Large wooden paddle brush, beautifully handpainted with a cool boho design. *By Gypsy Pea Magoo for Free People
View on www.freepeople.com
Preview by Yahoo
October 20, 2015
The Pantie Drawer Test
I know when a woman has disconnected from her sensuality and sexuality by how she answers a very simple question, “How does your panty drawer look?”
“What do you mean?” She always respond.
“What is the condition of your bra and panties?”
It never fails.
She will pause.
She will look up and do a mental inventory.
“It’s a mess.” She mumbles,” So what does that have anything to do with …..” fill in the blank.
“Everything.” I announce.
I have her full attention and this is why the above question says so much about the state of sensual health a woman is in.
Grab another cup of tea or coffee--Let’s get cozy up while I explain.
Panties are what covers your most powerful asset.
Yep, that’s right.
It is the Holy Grail from which life springs.
It is a place of deep secrets, of wonderful magic, it is the place men scramble to get to/in from the time they realize how awesome it is.
To connect with your Yoni, Vulva, Pussy, Cunt, Vagina, you must honor it by adorning it, taking care of it and loving it.
Panties with holes in them and bras long dead need to be thrown out. Not because you have a new man, not because you want a new man, or keep the man you have but because you are the one who needs to celebrate yourself as the power goddess that you are.
Too often I hear my girlfriends run out to get new lingerie the minute a new man comes into play. It’s not only the wrong way to go but it is self-defeating. Yep, I mean that.
Now when you take yourself out for a well-deserved lunch savor your own company plan out your delicious shopping day. Buy unctuous oils to sheath your skin so that it glows for your eyes only. Honor your delectable Yoni by admiring it with a sacred mirror and smile at her. Purr at her beauty. Adore her, cherish her,honor her, and even pleasure her.
Buy that sexy set for you... No one else but you and admire your reflection.
Go to the office with that awesome set beneath your suit. There is a walk a woman has when she is wearing something special. There is an air when a woman adorns herself for herself alone and it holds its own powerful charisma.
When her pantie drawer is healed so is she! Sounds crazy? It’s true.
Her lingerie drawer is a direct reflection of how she sees herself as a sexual being, her value as a woman, as beautiful. So no plain cotton underwear in nude, no more waiting for that man to give you the reason to celebrate your beauty and power.
Do it for you and you will see how suddenly men will smell out the fresh improved you and begin to see you with new eyes.
“What do you mean?” She always respond.
“What is the condition of your bra and panties?”
It never fails.
She will pause.
She will look up and do a mental inventory.
“It’s a mess.” She mumbles,” So what does that have anything to do with …..” fill in the blank.
“Everything.” I announce.
I have her full attention and this is why the above question says so much about the state of sensual health a woman is in.
Grab another cup of tea or coffee--Let’s get cozy up while I explain.
Panties are what covers your most powerful asset.
Yep, that’s right.
It is the Holy Grail from which life springs.
It is a place of deep secrets, of wonderful magic, it is the place men scramble to get to/in from the time they realize how awesome it is.
To connect with your Yoni, Vulva, Pussy, Cunt, Vagina, you must honor it by adorning it, taking care of it and loving it.
Panties with holes in them and bras long dead need to be thrown out. Not because you have a new man, not because you want a new man, or keep the man you have but because you are the one who needs to celebrate yourself as the power goddess that you are.
Too often I hear my girlfriends run out to get new lingerie the minute a new man comes into play. It’s not only the wrong way to go but it is self-defeating. Yep, I mean that.
Now when you take yourself out for a well-deserved lunch savor your own company plan out your delicious shopping day. Buy unctuous oils to sheath your skin so that it glows for your eyes only. Honor your delectable Yoni by admiring it with a sacred mirror and smile at her. Purr at her beauty. Adore her, cherish her,honor her, and even pleasure her.
Buy that sexy set for you... No one else but you and admire your reflection.
Go to the office with that awesome set beneath your suit. There is a walk a woman has when she is wearing something special. There is an air when a woman adorns herself for herself alone and it holds its own powerful charisma.
When her pantie drawer is healed so is she! Sounds crazy? It’s true.
Her lingerie drawer is a direct reflection of how she sees herself as a sexual being, her value as a woman, as beautiful. So no plain cotton underwear in nude, no more waiting for that man to give you the reason to celebrate your beauty and power.
Do it for you and you will see how suddenly men will smell out the fresh improved you and begin to see you with new eyes.
October 3, 2015
DANCE OF THE FERAL
by Toni Barca
Music turns me into a feral thing.
Wild.
Sweat.
Hunger rises but not for food.
I am starving for flesh.
A cock.
A lip.
A tongue.
A thumb licked & sucked.
I can't decide and so I dance.
Not a simple dance of hips shaking.
I undulate.
Slow with purposeful gaze,
Languorous eyes half closed.
I sink behind drum skins, beating the blood, pumping me into a rhythm that I
recognize BUT not from this life… no, not this state of civilized life.
I am in Babylon.
On a terrace off the hanging gardens, it's past midnight
No Cinderella, I.
I would never beg a prince to find my slipper.
I dance barefoot.
I am pagan.
Un-domesticated.
My hair, like dreads down my back,
Caress the tops of my bare ass.
My dimples mark my birth right of women…
And I dance,
I dance,
I dance alone.
And I moan.
I seize my company.
I seek it out.
I sink my hands in clit and wine.
I dance beneath moonlight.
Bonfires lit my steps.
Jasmine & sandalwood coupled incense perfume the air.
Humid winds moisten my skin and loose curls rise like small snakes alive and
writhe against my damp cheeks.
Medusa lost her head
Had she danced she would have saved herself
Such are the follies of goddesses
They underestimate the power of men-
I get hotter still and
yet I dance
Alone Alone Alone
I revel in that aloneness
I am woman.
Gratis.
Fat,
Pendulous, Slim,
Tall,
Hot,
Moist.
An orchid.
Rare.
Strong.
Trampled beneath lust
I rise again
I dance
Lips and hands.
Hips and desires.
Mine and theirs.
I am merciless in my contempt of their want.
Only what I want matters.
I tease cock
I tease cunt
The thing is….
I tease
Alone.
Alive.
I breathe.
I gasp.
My nipples harden and point the way.
That's the only compass I will ever trust-
I follow my tits.
Music turns me into a feral thing.
Wild.
Sweat.
Hunger rises but not for food.
I am starving for flesh.
A cock.
A lip.
A tongue.
A thumb licked & sucked.
I can't decide and so I dance.
Not a simple dance of hips shaking.
I undulate.
Slow with purposeful gaze,
Languorous eyes half closed.
I sink behind drum skins, beating the blood, pumping me into a rhythm that I
recognize BUT not from this life… no, not this state of civilized life.
I am in Babylon.
On a terrace off the hanging gardens, it's past midnight
No Cinderella, I.
I would never beg a prince to find my slipper.
I dance barefoot.
I am pagan.
Un-domesticated.
My hair, like dreads down my back,
Caress the tops of my bare ass.
My dimples mark my birth right of women…
And I dance,
I dance,
I dance alone.
And I moan.
I seize my company.
I seek it out.
I sink my hands in clit and wine.
I dance beneath moonlight.
Bonfires lit my steps.
Jasmine & sandalwood coupled incense perfume the air.
Humid winds moisten my skin and loose curls rise like small snakes alive and
writhe against my damp cheeks.
Medusa lost her head
Had she danced she would have saved herself
Such are the follies of goddesses
They underestimate the power of men-
I get hotter still and
yet I dance
Alone Alone Alone
I revel in that aloneness
I am woman.
Gratis.
Fat,
Pendulous, Slim,
Tall,
Hot,
Moist.
An orchid.
Rare.
Strong.
Trampled beneath lust
I rise again
I dance
Lips and hands.
Hips and desires.
Mine and theirs.
I am merciless in my contempt of their want.
Only what I want matters.
I tease cock
I tease cunt
The thing is….
I tease
Alone.
Alive.
I breathe.
I gasp.
My nipples harden and point the way.
That's the only compass I will ever trust-
I follow my tits.
September 24, 2015
YOU
By Toni Barca
You have brought your face back from the million life times you have breathed.
Like a fine crafted sword wrought from the fire, forged into what you are today.
I see it in the square of your jaw,
the proud tilt of your head.
I see the memories in the fire within your eyes.
You walk with purpose.
Power trails like the ancient cloaks you wore as a Roman, a Celt, an African.
There is charisma here, but such alchemy was mixed with blood, born time after
time after time.
If I could but graze my finger tip across your lips would you speak in ancient
tongues, dead languages studied now by only the most elite scholars?
Would my longing to recall flood us in melancholy or would we laugh together at
the absurdity of it all?
I wonder?
I have so many homes, none are permanent, and yet, all are dear to me.
When do we know to what purpose we walk to?
What makes us wake and part the veils of the subconscious truth?
Do you know where your destiny lies?
Or is this life, a place of rest?
Is this time, a life to be lived with simplicity; the love of a woman, the birth
of children, and the death of the body and then to go on again?
I remember.
I remembered you when I first saw You, the air cracked between us.
We were uncomfortable, and circled each other like dogs, and then we spoke, and
understood the core of each other's hearts,
and then
all
eased.
So what now?
You have brought your face back from the million life times you have breathed.
Like a fine crafted sword wrought from the fire, forged into what you are today.
I see it in the square of your jaw,
the proud tilt of your head.
I see the memories in the fire within your eyes.
You walk with purpose.
Power trails like the ancient cloaks you wore as a Roman, a Celt, an African.
There is charisma here, but such alchemy was mixed with blood, born time after
time after time.
If I could but graze my finger tip across your lips would you speak in ancient
tongues, dead languages studied now by only the most elite scholars?
Would my longing to recall flood us in melancholy or would we laugh together at
the absurdity of it all?
I wonder?
I have so many homes, none are permanent, and yet, all are dear to me.
When do we know to what purpose we walk to?
What makes us wake and part the veils of the subconscious truth?
Do you know where your destiny lies?
Or is this life, a place of rest?
Is this time, a life to be lived with simplicity; the love of a woman, the birth
of children, and the death of the body and then to go on again?
I remember.
I remembered you when I first saw You, the air cracked between us.
We were uncomfortable, and circled each other like dogs, and then we spoke, and
understood the core of each other's hearts,
and then
all
eased.
So what now?
