Daddy's friends like to laugh
and have another beer
to watch me
when I bring it

but today they fall silent
you could be bothered yourself
with a difficult daughter
who posts poems

about *** and the love
of her father and
a distant lover

What is the matter with him
and this interest in my inner self?
Too bad, he does not understand

Only in fantasy can I express
what I need and
what makes me angry

I am finished with being a muse –
The victimized wet-dream of art
Who, slowly turning on a dais
Raised on superficial planks,
Will soon be a forgotten toy
That once loved, now has lost its charm,
And crushed into a corner waits
Till memory renews its rank.

The gods can have this blessing back.
I'll mar my face and tear my hair
And burn my robe and crown of gold
And wade in mud up to my knee,
Or suffer cows and sweat for milk,
Or brave a sea of mug and chair.
Oh, silver platter-washing, I
Would gladly be ordinary!

Yet, bar-girls also have to feign
And feint from lofty thoughts of He.
And milkmaids, too, are often set
Upon a stool above their wish.
From scullery to cloudless mount,
If privy parts inverted be,
You serve the wielder of the wand,
Obliged to lie down as his dish.

I am not asking for support
or anything much more
but why is that doing what I want
and going to where my hearts want to go
People have always something to say
like a harsh reminder
that own happiness is luxurious
and impossible to attain?

I've thought of records and audio files,
Where my voice trails on awkwardly enough,
For me to flinch hard as I listen to
All the silly problems that I wish to
Address in my teenage years, because soon
I'll forget myself, I'll forget my youth
And frankly? I ain't ready for those sad,
Sad twenties and the lonely apartments -
If only I had that audio file -
I'd pour my feelings out, let them go like
Water from a beat down dam heading for
The ocean, that water calls me now and
Its soft hum brings me down to Earth, but my
Stupid feelings are still screaming they're still
Deeply buried in the sand and the ground
It shakes with each unspoken thought I've yet
To let out, but if someone doesn't bring
A shovel, I might as well keep shaking
'Til I stop hating the sound of my own **** voice.

I have dyed my hair a lot of colors-

It has been red with anger,
A statement of rage; symbol of fire,
I spent my days with my head in the sink
Putting out my hot-headed thinking
Choking on red water
And my own way of breathing,
When I was tugged on like a false alarm
Meaningless, and loud
A vibrant call for help
And I wore it proud

It has been blue with calm dignity,
When the days were easier,
When happiness was free
I remember how quickly the blue bled to green
That was okay with me,
I loved music and breathing,
And drinking beers on city streets
I was colorful graffiti
It was more of a fleeting feeling
Of matching the sky and the sea
Back when I wanted the world
To look at me


It has been violet in the violent hours,
I remember magenta showers
And tear stained smoke breaks
When the city never slept, always awake
Humming with the traffic on the freeway
In a car with friends and a future before us
Though my skin was a tight blanket-
I felt a smile beneath a purple forest
Where happiness tugged on my cheeks
And I wanted to believe in everything
Everyone believed in me, too

It has been black on the silent days
Somewhere between indecision
And bad taste; a dark fate  
Suffocating beneath a blank sheet
While I was recollecting
The lost and bleak pieces of me
That were almost swallowing me whole
I almost fell into the black hole
I painted myself as
It is much too dark now,
For the colors I so loved
They won’t be coming back

But lately, I returned to my natural state
To see how the brown curls will fall
Like branches on my growing shoulders,
Going back to my roots,
No more drowning myself in bathroom sinks
Looking for myself at the bottom
In colors that could not define me
I am sorry to myself for hiding
Who I am supposed to be
All those colors will always exist
In some place inside of me

But I wonder what my new colors
Will be