Madame X
While lying in bed
scrolling down,
a concentrated frown.
Voices barking at her,
expounding loud.
Fight through the crowd.
Bits and pieces.
Fragments. Opinions.
The Minions
telling her what she should do,
as if she didn’t have a clue.
How to iron out the wrinkles,
expunge the weight,
be positive,
meditate,
“What Gen are you?”
They call her X.
She likes that.
“Madame X.”
She smiles and twiddles her toes,
stretching into a pose.
Time to get up.
Make her mark,
using her own special spark.
A cross.
An X.
Her flex.
Her call.
Who is she?
She’s,
Mme X
Creative expressions part of the artistic research of I am Maria! A warm invitation to explore more poems and audiovisual experiments here
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