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Best intentions taught me that
Within higher symphonic realms
Spaces are for FACE,
and lines–
Lines define worth:
Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge
In lower staves,
All Cows Eat Grass, and boys–
Good Boys Do Fine Always
But girls?
For them, only blank lines and vacuous spaces,
Forever existing outside of song
Forty-seven years
and I’ve finally discovered that
Good Girls cannot be defined by lines and spaces,
in measure or in absence
We Girls have missed the music for the notes;
we exhale in the pause between notes:
Girls are good and are the music
Girls are good and are the song
Pianissimo, Fortissimo,
lyric and stanza,
composer and performer–
Girls are good and are the music
Girls are good and are the song
And if we are very, very good,
if we open, if we
note our notes, if we
revere our revelry,
the audience and the seats that hold them
are we as well
Every good girl is the movement within the movement,
those discrete moments enfolded in each moment,
artist and instrument in union
We are the songs amidst stardust
within our own universe
We are the comfort in our skin,
the heat that we own,
the breath that we share
We are the stem of our spine,
the flag of our footprints,
the beam of our voice
We are the knowing of our knowing
and the wet of our kiss
Let all the good boys have their fudge
their face
Let the cows have their grass
Let every good boy do fine, always
We good girls have our own outro
our own completion, whole
and wholeness both
We are our own decrescendo
We are our own crescendo
and that we carry


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