I never meant to be a Masseuse
I never meant to be a Masseuse.
If someone had asked me what I wanted to be
I never would have thought of it.
I’ve massaged over 20,000 people in the last 30 years
Arriving at the doors of strangers with my table, sheets and oil.
All colors, shapes and sizes, from movies stars to babies.
Old women dying of cancer – no breasts.
Men from war – no legs.
I’ve been a masseuse to young girls as a present from their mothers like
Some initiation rite.
I’ve been a present to lovers on birthdays,
Coming to their homes with balloons tied to my bag.
I’ve massaged in hospitals, beauty parlors, exercise salons, motels,
Out by swimming pools getting sun stroke,
In bedrooms getting scared.
I’ve had jets sent for me by the rich,
And a man who kept calloing to ask if I’d beat him.
I’ve massaged women who have just been raped,
A mother who lost her only daughter,
A soap opera queen cried every time I touched her, she never told me why.
All kinds of people have remembered every kind of physical
And emotional abuse on my table,
Which made me remember mine.
I didn’t plan this trip, this journey through the bodies of earth,
No I never meant to be a masseuse.