it’s one of those mornings
where I just want to run,
mama.

I get up, only to
brush my teeth,
comb the knots out of my hair,
and put on dainty heels
(to make dainty gestures
to important men
in business apparel)
and spend eight hours
using my false eyelashes,
bright voice,
and candied lips
to appease the disgruntled populace.

my inner goddess flails her arms
recklessly, bruising my heart,
my lungs,
my stomach,
my soul,
her cage.
every day
I hear her sobs
emanating from my core.

is this what you raised me to be, mama?
a little bit of a
slave to the system
and sucker for the city?

if I were to throw it all away,
what would they call me?
what would they do to me,
were I to abandon
my heels for bare feet
melting into the damp Earth?

like some ancient character
in a brilliant mythology
I want to let it all burn
just to rise from the ashes
all over again.