The Curse of an Overpowered Toile

I am from
the past,
toile facade
without a
story; a muslin
wrap guards
my skin:  I wait. 

ancient voices
stalk me;
whisper to my
fierce silence:

I listen. 

jolted ridged
in my
canvas flesh,
toile spirits
bind me still:

I stand. 

like scissors
ripping cloth
I surrender
to my darker
spirit:
I pray. 

ancient voices of
Jouy-en-Josas
grip my reason. 

from behind a door
they shout,
"joy from yourself!"
"joy to your pleasures!"
"joy for the kingdoms
of the past and now!"
"joy for the curse of
your inner
divine!"

I awaken. 

the world
mocks the
empty me,
but my
dark light
is birthing
from my lips,
beyond my
body:

I unfold.

the world
has forgotten me, 
but no more: 

I stalk
every doubt,
the creature me,
a needle in
their stiched
souls:

I stand. 

giving birth to
my inner self
the light in
my face
is the reason
of  creation:

I emerge. 

you cannot
stand in the
way of creation;
you will not
hold my
future to the
forgotten past:

I become. 

my inner skin
opens in glory:

I am self-contained
in its beauty. 

who, under cover,
reveals the
cloth of self,
but me?

I am
toile!

I am
the
curse of
your fears!

I am
the door
to your
secret desires!

obey
your
toile!  

Text by R. Burnett Baker. 

Special thanks to Sandra Azwan.
Also featured in Life With Sandra.