idealism (mother knows best)

advice does not come easily for her; thus
i treasure each mouthful of dull stones
painted with instructions on how to catch a man
(they are disguised in the colors of life-words,
but i am not so naive)

she says, don’t tear at your lips
it makes them ugly
(but the only man i want
would push our mouths together
so the black blood from my mouth
seeped into the cracks and crevices of his
and made us true lovers)

she says try to wear a little makeup
(but i would rather he know how ugly i am from the get-go)

tells me stand up straight, but
if i am bent over he will have less trouble
fitting himself to my curves;
i hear, dress more feminine
but if he can’t accept me as a man
then i can’t see him as the man.

she says, don’t pick at your scabs,
they’ll scar
but she does not understand: i want them to.

i want him to know every story i have collected
of every hurt and adventure
i want him to read my braveries and cowardice
tattooed on my flesh,
i want his lips to learn the contours of these skin ribbons
and his fingers to write their own tales
on the blank lines left behind
by scrapes and nicks and cuts.

my mother strongly advises against imperfections;
and i wish to be loved for them,
not in spite of them.

(i will probably never be married)



  1. while some of these words hold true, some don’t…i just want you to be the person i know you can be, that you ARE, not conform to what you think some man wants my little girl to be.

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