White mesh blowing in the breeze,
wind sweeping you off your feet,
while you look for something
out there that doesn't exist,
that never did.

When you were little
you thought that perfection
was sold in glass jars,
that your mother bought
a dose every thursday evening
amongst the bread, the milk,
the frozen peas.

But now, you know different -
that what she bought only numbed you,
rocked you to sleep, made the shadows
dance in pretty pretty patterns
on the feathers and fairytales,
across the pink pink panels
of your pretty little mind
(your silly little mind).

Now you know
that he's searching,
searching for that same
Brady Bunch Bliss
in the bottom of a bottle.

And you're following in his footsteps,
as all good little girls should...

04/12/2004

Author's Note: The title of this is actually meant to be "Daddy's little girl" but I can't post it with that title for some reason - I get an error message.

Posted on 04/12/2004
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