I have hated my beautiful self, World,
I have spit on my finger and
smeared it across the mirror like paint.
I gained a whore at a certain age, World,
I wouldn’t let a soul touch me
and cultivated a fragrance of tease.
World, I hated you, too, for dropping
babies from airplanes.
Why couldn’t I cradle the bastards?
I have hated my resplendent nature
because, World, that is what we
teach each other to do.
Every girl’s got her demons,
but I ran a damn flophouse.
Now, World, I am no longer suicidal.
I nibbled at my desiccated skin
until I tasted the burst of mulberry –
finally! Something mellifluous,
that is to say, World, that I have tasted
my true potential,
so forgive me, World, for hating the beautiful self
and this I say not with conceit, but with
the humbled relief of a star one sees
searching for a home.

10/19/2006

Posted on 10/19/2006
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky