My mother had spent many of her
waking hours calmed by tranzene
reading redbook and talking secretly
over tea with milk and sugar
censoring my life
"here's the book and put this on
your father will be mad if you bleed
all over the bathroom floor"
and my actions
"wear a bra, you look digusting
why do you have to read those
weird books all of the time
why can't you be like everybody else and
just act your age"
and my thoughts
"you can never do anything
right, but it's nice that your
profanity was published
by those hippies
listening to that hippy-music
why can't you be
more like your sister
and play sports
and stop painting and writing and
go outside for once"
MOTHER
look at all the blazing harm
caused now by
my writing and painting
and listening to hippie music
look at me now mother
how I bleed
all over the bathroom floor
and get my stuff published
and still think it's not any good
and paint long into the night
so one of those people listening to
hippy music without their bras
can take my painting to
florence italy
and how much
mother I bleed
all over the bathroom floor
and still read those books
with the words you don't understand
while hiding me in the corner
so i can be just like my sister
raising some thank less guy's kids
worried about money for milk
and getting a job at the bank
instead of listening to hippie music
and posing for a
mack trucks calendar and
riding my bike solo
from here to new jersey
and worried what my father will do
when he finds out
i bleed
all over the bathroom floor.
~haze
06/07/99
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