Oh dear, what a shame it is to not have the heads turn

As I enter the bus in awe of my flawless beauty

The shining face, the kohl smeared eyes, the ripped out

Hairless flesh of my legs, and smooth touch of my hands

No woman will wish her daughter to be like me

For all I know, I’d be one of those young people

That make her look so damn sexy at forty eight;

No man will desire the fool who does not hide her legs

Sprouting with hair as wild as her heart, my head with

As less hair as the damn worthy of all the passers-by

Who, I am told, will decide the course of my life,

Oh dear mommy, I am a walking tragedy.

But what will you do when I go waltzing down the

Streets of Vienna in hot pants and spaghetti tops

And when I would have dyed my hair red, and adopted

Baby kittens displaying their loving scratches like

Constellations tattooed on my skin and not wear black to

Hide my tummy and pick any dress out of my wardrobe without

Spending a full 30 minutes wondering if what I wear

Will please every person who I may or may not pass

On the street? What will you do when I will find a partner

Who loves me when you had your bets on that I wouldn’t

Because, oh what a mess I am and still will be, and what will

You do when my eyes have laughter lines from all the

Shits I didn’t give about the millions of people I should

Have given a shit about;

Will I still be your walking tragedy?