I was born a depressed bastard
with hand-me-down clothes
and a mother that had to work
three jobs to feed my sorry-ass brothers
and my sorry-ass self.
We stood in lines at churches
and waited for free food.
We had food stamps
and WIC
and all the embarrassing assistance
I didn’t want my schoolmates to know about.
I can only remember that in black & white.
But even the future is based on grayscale.
These days the existence
(and persistence)
of the lack of color in my life
is pushing me to my limits
and I realize that
I want more.
I want to learn the secrets of the trade:
If you love me, I’ll love you.
I want to find the fountain of youth:
I’m only as young as I feel.
I want to defeat the world:
Vote NO on Proposition Suicide.
I want to run through fields of daisies, roll around in tall grass
and sit on a home-made porch-swing.
I want to love my pets, grow my plants
and have time enough to check my makeup before I leave the house.
You know, all that marketing-fairy tale shit.
Who says you have to be born a royal? Who says princesses can’t be made?
This is a stick-up. Give me what I want.
Make me a Queen.
