I've straightened my hair,
Curled it with wands,
Burned my fingers,
Tasted my shiny red lips,
Left them dry,
Seen the dead skin fall like autumn leaves,
Thinking "mommy wouldn't approve."

I've done my nails,
Painted them black,
Yellow,
Purple,
And all shades of blue.

I've pressed magazine pages on my cuticles,
Hoping some words would stick,
perhaps a "cool," "posh," "dandy," little word.

I've worn tight jeans,
Mommy jeans,
My mother's 80's clothes,
I've worn black dresses,
Those with sequins,
Those without'em, too.

And each time,
I've tried to be...someone,
Just anyone.

I never tried being me.