(penned 7.23.04, but no less true today)
i am still that little girl who cried for 6 years over her dead doggie/ who couldn’t bring herself to fight her tormentors ‘cause she could feel their pain// learned to cover with black girl bravado and sly smiles...// most days i’m still crying ‘cause i know how sick the homeless guy on the corner is or the loneliness of the lady next to me on the subway without wanting or trying to
that girl fought demons by night / saw ghosts walk sidewalks by day / read myths and encyclopedias trying to find herself ‘cause no one in her world matched up// went to bed with fingers cramped from writing instead of atari ‘cause her fingers couldn’t keep up with the universe spinning in her mind
i’m still her// but i learned she’s not normal / so i hid her / cut her up / stuffed her in hefty bags and left her for dead// yet...her bones stir and grate against the ones i’ve grown// i’m a false idol built over a true god
how am i supposed to make a living out of that?