She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.

She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
like a fan belt.
So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.

In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn't she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending.

Anonymous submission.

Marge Piercy
 

lyrics "I've got no strings" Pinocchio

Sleeping, lazy-flat, unformed

With just enough cold to maintain

an oblong dense expanse of white

Until happening along, he came

Playful, gloved, and blue scarf-wound

Windbroke in his down-filled vest,

Already denim soaked knee-deep in me.

He puffed his wind-pink cheeks up full,

And stooped to scoop and scooped up well,

Patted firm, packed, and scooped up again

Until there was some beginning form.

It puzzled me - that he would stay

So long working wet and tired -

Patient, molding, coaxing, so completely sure

That I would come, at last, to something.

He sculpted out my snow-blind eyes,

Placed my nose where it belonged,

Parted my lips with purposed thumbs,

And rounded out my chin within his palm.

I have been Carnivorous

And sucked the bloody bones,  

and smoke-dried the fatted halves,

and licked from my lusty fingertips

The meat-sum of my unfortunate mates.

I have tasted their sweet.

I have tasted their savory.

I have tasted their even bitters.

I have drunk ten-times-ten to

Their good health (all tongue-in-cheek-like)

And smiled, a sated glutton

sat slowly with a rough harrumph - a sigh

escaping from his very, very old bones as they

settled themselves rather unwillingly into a younger

man's position.

The bench was forgiving of the weight, weft, and warp

of trousers that had seen too much of decay and not

enough of  detergents -floral scented- or gentle hands folding 

back into them the kind concern and smooth caress of a

wife long dead.

He looked up.

There they sat...the couple in the sunshine on the bench

(farthest from the shade, but closest to the fountain)

with fingers entwined, hair breeze-blown and entangled...

no eyes for others...no thoughts beyond their own radius

of radiance.

He regarded them.

He pursed his cracked lips and closed his wrinkled

eyelids and coaxed his old bones to obey once again...

He creaked his way upright

(almost, at least),

and shuffled slowly away.

I knew her a bit.

She had untied shoelaces 

every day 

and a flyaway look to her

pigtails..untamed.

She chewed her fingernails

nubby-round-rough

and drove the boys wild climbing

trees in skirts.

She hardly ever fell very hard, but she

did fall often....

out of trees, off  bikes riding too fast

or for a brooding grin 

here and there...

She sometimes ended up with her teeth

loosened a bit,

or blood in her mouth.

Afterward, though,

she always brushed off, smiled,

winked, winced, spat, shrugged, cried,

giggled....

and rolled with it.

The Portrait of the Healer Idealist (iNFp)

Healer Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in striving for their ends, and informative and introverted in their interpersonal relations. Healer present a seemingly tranquil, and noticiably pleasant face to the world, and though to all appearances they might seem reserved, and even shy, on the inside they are anything but reserved, having a capacity for caring not always found in other types. They care deeply-indeed, passionately-about a few special persons or a favorite cause, and their fervent aim is to bring peace and integrity to their loved ones and the world.

Healers have a profound sense of idealism derived from a strong personal morality, and they conceive of the world as an ethical, honorable place. Indeed, to understand Healers, we must understand their idealism as almost boundless and selfless, inspiring them to make extraordinary sacrifices for someone or something they believe in. The Healer is the Prince or Princess of fairytale, the King's Champion or Defender of the Faith, like Sir Galahad or Joan of Arc. Healers are found in only 1 percent of the general population, although, at times, their idealism leaves them feeling even more isolated from the rest of humanity.

 Healers seek unity in their lives, unity of body and mind, emotions and intellect, perhaps because they are likely to have a sense of inner division threaded through their lives, which comes from their often unhappy childhood. Healers live a fantasy-filled childhood, which, unfortunately, is discouraged or even punished by many parents. In a practical-minded family, required by their parents to be sociable and industrious in concrete ways, and also given down-to-earth siblings who conform to these parental expectations, Healers come to see themselves as ugly ducklings. Other types usually shrug off parental expectations that do not fit them, but not the Healers. Wishing to please their parents and siblings, but not knowing quite how to do it, they try to hide their differences, believing they are bad to be so fanciful, so unlike their more solid brothers and sisters. They wonder, some of them for the rest of their lives, whether they are OK. They are quite OK, just different from the rest of their family-swans reared in a family of ducks. Even so, to realize and really believe this is not easy for them. Deeply committed to the positive and the good, yet taught to believe there is evil in them, Healers can come to develop a certain fascination with the problem of good and evil, sacred and profane. Healers are drawn toward purity, but can become engrossed with the profane, continuously on the lookout for the wickedness that lurks within them. Then, when Healers believe thay have yielded to an impure temptation, they may be given to acts of self-sacrifice in atonement. Others seldom detect this inner turmoil, however, for the struggle between good and evil is within the Healer, who does not feel compelled to make the issue public.

Hatred drowned in spices.

Greed dried on sunbaked rocks.

Delusions, the shadows between fabric folds.

Living the saffron life.

Confessed my love.

Danced and will continue to dance until I fall down happy tonight.

My blood is running hot.

The girl is beautiful, she is beautiful.

taking my measure without effort;

watching my eyes.

I betray my-own-self.

I bite my lip, he bites my lip.

One light fingertip on my chest

pushing me down without effort;

watching my eyes.

He reveals nothing.

I breathe out, he breathes in.

One light fingertip on my lips

shushing me once without effort;

closing my eyes.

My eyes are closed.