Let yourself laugh
At the comedy of your
Funny moments. It is
The only freeing act,
For you trespass on your
Own territory. The script
Writes itself, and you have
Acted it already. Like me
In a girl fight where I am
Defeated and my silk petticoat
Is tattered, and torn. For fear
Of explaining to my mom, I hide
It way down in the boxes, where
I know she will never look, and
There it lies till I outgrow
Both the tatters of stories, of
Girl fights. I stand in front of the chimera,
Holding this poem, hoping you will not throw
Straw at me and watch how the fork is
Gonna turn, the shish-kabob I will become
When hell finally rains fire on me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem