I am a gypsy wanderer.
The only home
I have ever known
Is my body.
And I destroy it.
Those like me
Can never have a home.
So I fill my lungs
With cigarette smoke,
My skin with scars
And my blood with *****.

I am searching,
let that be known.
Searching for a lost goddess,
nursing her ***** bottle.
I would recognize her,
even if she looked nothing like herself.
Because she would be
the one with her head held high,
even though she can barely walk.
She would be the one,
whom you thunk knows nothing of pain.
But think again,
or even better,
search for a bottle of ***** marked with red lipstick.

I remember,
my mother would often tell me
I am not alone.
I wonder is she feeding
the same lies
to my niece?
Oh mother,
please don't lie
to my baby girl,
tell her the truth,
tell her how alone she is.
Tell her,
that no one will be there for her,
that no one will save her,
unless she saves herself.
And, I know I am a disgrace to you,
but please tell her about her aunt,
the one who loved her more than she loved herself.
Tell her how much I loved her,
and teach her how to fight alone.
You ruined me,
but in the name of everything you love,
Save her.

You see,
i am not a singer.
I am a sinner.
I have no future
like a lady,
and my past is dodgy and shady,
at best.
Yet, you can rest.
Even though I am a liar,
i am not a murderer,
nor a thief.
Yes you will never know
where you stand with me,
but i could tell you.
But you never wanted that,
did you?
You hoped for a weekend with the slutty girl,
a week at most.
You never wanted to hold me at my worst,
only to admire me at my best.
Well, i pity you,
I pity you because you could not see the beauty
that my chaos is.

I loved her.
Not just because it was a sin,
and i was the mother of sinners.
Also because she made me realise that in my life,
it is i who matter the most.
So i took her advice and started loving myself.
But from a far i loved her as well.
She was my muse, my poem.
Also, i was my own muse, my own poem.

And the night
before i left home
i had a dream.
I dreamt of a beautiful
little girl,
just out of my womb,
and a strong man
holding my hand.
And together,
we were king and queen
making a kingdom for our little princess.
That was when i knew
that everything will work out,
despite the fact
that i was a mere child of fifteen,
leaving home,
leaving my family.
I was ready to start building a new life,
fit for a queen,
that shall rule alone until her king or queen comes along.

I am a *****.
A feminist *****.
And that is what society
and people like you call me.
I don't like you,
i don't like your archaic and patriarchal
way of thought.
But i love you.
Somewhere along the way
i fell in love with you.
Yet we broke up,
despite the big love we shared.
We broke up because there was no respect.
You wanted to be my lover,
my boyfriend and my husband.
I want a partner.
And that means respect.

Old lover,
I will wait for you tonight.
You will hear a song,
sung between white sheets,
sing with the voice of past queens.
Yet my voice will be the loudest,
i will be your goddess.
You will scream,
trying to protect yourself
from the rage of a soulless poet.
But it will end.
And then,
you will wake up from your nightmare,
the goddess will be long gone,
you will **** the voices of past queens.