pretty and pink
she's a princess
as she struts up and down the rows

what she'll pick,
mommy doesn't know

will it be the new
holiday barbie doll

or the shiny Nerf gun
to shoot her brother, Paul.

no!

Its the wonderful stuffed
teddy-pus.

the mega tough protector
who isn't a wuss.

he keeps kids safe
chases the monsters away

with his snuggly tentacles and big fluffy ears
he provides brighter days

now whenever
she's feeling really sad,

Teddy-pus makes things
seem not so bad.

wants to be my friend, for I am poet-woman nineteen.

she is sweet but sad. super sad.

a good poet who wants to guide me.

but there/theirs is the odor, not faint, of wants wanting,
the pus of corruption behind the curtains,
the Wizard-ess of Oz's
special blackout curtains.

seen how easy, how her illusions,
my medium rare rejections,
morph into her delusions,

and her delusions devolve into
her conspiracy theories.

"SHE will be my mentor, poetess lover, teacher for no charge!"

my parents thinks it's great, she wants (to be) skin in my game.

my parents will find this poem accidentally, exactly,

how I do not want
to be skinned alive.

for I am poet-woman nineteen and still! now, long past
the point of being fooled, the point of no return.

and see no point,
have no intention,
of returning to either valley

no more con the my mind into letting my body
be-fused.^  

that ain't me babe.