Previous Feature: Marisa Silva-Dunbar

Marisa Silva-Dunbar has been published in Anti-Heroin Chic, Better than Starbucks, Gargoyle Magazine, Poetry WTF?!, Redheaded Stepchild, and Words Dance Magazine. She graduated from the University of East Anglia with her MA in poetry, and has been shortlisted twice for the Eyewear Publishing Fortnight Poetry Prize. The E.I.C. of Neon Mariposa Magazine, you can follow Marisa on Twitter @theSweetMaris.

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Je ne sais quoi                                                                                                                                                  —Found poem from Allison Mack’s Website

I’m attracted to the struggle of women—
I lived my life conflicted,
never satisfied, raging.

I felt threatened by them—
Women:
with painted lips and cat eyes in cashmere sweaters,
the CEOs in crisp, tailored business suits and pumps,
tough chicks in leather pants and white tank tops,
“Good Girls,” in white sundresses and heart-shaped glasses,
hikers in a ponytail with a backpack, and toned arms,
the club beauties in tight, bright body clinging dresses and bling,
Gamer Girls in concert tees and torn jeans.

This was a secret I kept
I wanted to be able to sink
into the women I surrounded myself with.

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Love-bombed: November 23rd, 2017                                                                                                        —Found poem from Frank Report

Allison was ripe for the picking:
wealthy, at the start of a quarter
life crisis, searching for a cause
where she could take root and bloom—
there was no one to tether her,
not the paramour she kissed in moonlight,
not even her sweet-sponging mom & dad.

I was there her first weekend,
the ladies love-bombed her
with candied words for wooing.
She indulged it—soaked in their adoration.

The ladies knew how to get their talons
into her bones—how to make her feel
like she was chosen—the high priestess
they’d scoured the globe for.

Before the weekend was over,
they wanted to know, was she willing to be sacrificed
to their god? For the ritual she’d have to swallow
his words, lie on their altar and let him carve her
into his ideal, and he would crown her with Venus
trap, bilberry, oleander, and pomegranate blossoms.

She flew out the next day, to meet the god she’d been waiting for.

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March 14th, 2014: My Global Museum Tour, Museum #2: The Neue Galerie                               —Found poem from Allison Mack’s Blog

A typical Vancouver evening: it’s raining—
the street lights reflect off the puddles on the concrete.
I’m living in an impressionist’s masterpiece.
We’ve become a staple here at the Shanghai Bistro.
A glass of white wine sitting in front of me,
finishing the last of the Chinese green beans.

His head is freshly shaven—
his beard bleeds right into his sideburns.
I have never seen him so tidy.
I’ve learned about Shakespeare, good wine, sexual innuendos, art.
Thanks to him, I have a list of “divine places not to be missed.”
Before him, I want. He teaches me how to be decadent, curious.
A true gentleman, he always opens my door, puts his napkin in his lap
—but then he launches into that raw, gritty world,
I’ve been so afraid of exploring.

I call him Big Daddy. He subtly puts me in my place—
shows me the beauty in all things dirty and unkempt.
The secret is all characters are looking to get laid.
The natural reddening of my cheeks in his presence
has become a reflex. He likes the smell of sweat.

I picture John living in his TriBeCa loft—
just after the height of the civil rights movement,
long before the AIDS crisis.
Manhattan was filled with bohemians.
I imagine brawls and free love; Woodstock 24/7.

I see my Big Daddy hosting dinner parties—
wish I was there with him, flowers in my hair,
peasant skirts caressing the floor,
bare feet and sun-kissed shoulders.
There, I embrace the bitter, dirty, sexy and sloppy parts of me.
I finally understand why John has been pushing me
to admit when I am horny or hairy. He loves the rawness of human beings;
the more he sees me—the more I let go.

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All Hail! Want to learn more about Marisa Silva-Dunbar, including more about her found poetry regarding NXIVM? Then, click on the GIF of Allison Mack and Keith Raniere below, and visit Marisa’s personal site . . .

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