When I was younger, I used to ask my mother how is it that we feel alone even when there are so many people in this world.

I

I walk like fire till my feet turn to ash

It does not matter if the world beneath me burns

I do not care if the steps spill my blood,

My spit turning to acid, words melt my insides

I can no longer swallow the shit that is happening

My heartbeats up in flames, the soul boiling

Under the heat of my own being

I live like fire till my days turn to ash.

II

Cry, if the world hurts you, cry like a fucking

Waterfall, and cry till those around can see you

Drowning in your own sorrow; please don’t

Pretend to be strong for anyone, aren’t we all

Starting to look like iron men and women who

Have forgotten what their hearts sounded like

Aren’t we wounded souls wandering underneath

Distracted bodies teaching our children

Never to cry?

III

Oh god, please be kind to one another

You are not ice, you are not a walking blade,

You are not the pointed pistol, or the big stick,

You are not thorns, you are not a fist, a punch

You are not a rational intellectualizing all-

knowing emotionless fucking machine

And you don’t have to be

You are a warm smile, you are a tight hug

You are the stranger who can understand

You are the lover who can listen, you are the

Thing that can break when others crumble

You are so full of love, you are kind

You are nothing like what they tell you you are

You are everything you want to be

You are one person

But hand in hand with everyone else
You are the fucking world.

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?