Why I'm the Damsel

At one time
Dead dogs and dead women
Pearls worth more than girls
Someone extended a hand
To give Life
"Talitha, koum..."
And now
Pry the tail out
From the viper's own jaws
This time
Still needs Someone
"Talitha, koum..."
Little girl, arise

I'm no poet. This art was lost on me after studying free verse poetry in high school, which came after the understandable iambic pentameter and the haiku. If there is no form, no necessary rhythm, no need for rhyme, no nothing, then what makes a poem a poem? Can't anyone be a poet if they scribble out some words in short little nonsentences? Maybe I'm a poet afterall.

I'm that girl, if born 2,000 years ago, who probably would have died young, perhaps mourned, but easily forgotten. Body burned in a trash heap. I'm that girl, born today, bombarded with ideals of false rights and false liberation. I'm lucky to be alive. I could have still ended up in a trash heap, only in much smaller pieces.

Who bothered to give me worth? Who bothered to raise me from radical death? Not your average man (or woman) on the street. A Divine Man, an oxymoron. Jesus. He's given radical life to women throughout time. That is why my blog is called, "Talitha, koum."