My whole life I believed I Was made of tar People walking by would leave their shoes behind I thought that my lovers were stuck there Caught in the goopy blackness of my stirring soul I had no beaters, no mixing spoon And they would gasp for breath on the surface
I pushed them out I could not stand to hurt them so Letting them die would be such a low blow And it surprised me To watch them leave so quickly Like they didn't even want to fix me
One boy tried to clean me out with his bare hands once And the farther he reached, the dirtier we both became He traced my name with his fingers on my grimy car windows "Wash me" the message would say And I would try to shampoo the tar out of my hair
But as I looked at the spattered stains underneath my fingernails My poetry, black and white I saw right through my self-toldΒ Β lies.
I spew ink.
Like an exploded pen in your white shirt pocket. Look at the beautiful spots bleeding into the cotton.