Hipbone Hand Drums

2010 Performance at the Amsterdam Lounge in Worcester, MA

I am not your dream girl, baby
Though I may have her beautiful body
Keep me off of your pedestal
'Cause I'm not made of porcelain
This ivory-pale skin
Is flesh
It's made to stretch
It's meant to crease
Over my knees
And augment to me
Bulge over my bones
This body is my home
They told me
It was a temple
To be treated with respect
What they meant
Was that it housed goddess
And her home deserves
The proper touch
Just firm enough
To tempt me
To contend against my taunting
But not tether me
Where I don't want to be
No, I am not your dream girl, baby
But they do
Call me "Faery"
Because I don't walk
I prance
Because I'll dance
And wherever I am
And you'll be compelled to consort
I will sing
Because this body
Is a temple of rhythm
Where veins like guitar strings hum
And pulse with every strum
My hipbones my hand drums
Audaciously dauntless
Conspicuously confident
I am not your dream girl, baby
I am living this life
Because it's mine
To hold, to fold
To meld, to mold
To crease, to crack
And then glue back
To scrape up and tape up
To shape up and drape up
To deform and adorn
And sew up when torn
I am not your dream girl
I am a ragdoll
But this
Is my riot
So don't expect my silence
'Cause when I'm shaking and quaking
'Til the seams strip apart
I know how to sew
And knit
And crochet
So I'll be okay
I know where all of the pieces go
Because I put them there myself
When I couldn't count on someone else
So when you see me in your dreams tonight
I am not your dream girl
I'm mine