La Maestra
I stood in front of a one man orchestra,
shadowed by dim lights
and lit by darkness.
My baton risen,
believing your soul,
questioning your heart,
I sliced the air,
becoming your Maestra.
Bloody, dripping
down the sides, you beat the drum
matching my pulse to feed your want.
My baton whips again
to tell you...
You're not good enough,
you were never good enough.
You panicked,
You were frantic
as my lips parted a smile,
that you never could see.
He begged for the baton
yet never quite in acceptance.
So I whipped again
and his clothes pooled
to the floor.
You fell to your knees,
never looking to me
and I laughed.
Silently, I laughed
as you dug your nails
into your chest
And played the strings to your heart.
I watched you.
I listened
As you played yourself again
For me.
-Violetta Alexis
