I’m hungry I’m tired I’m guilty I’m sorry
feed me
expensive haircuts, Brazilian bikini waxes
designer clothes, weekly facials, porcelain veneers
celebrity abs & asses to measure myself against
so I can find myself lacking
let me rest on
the dirty carpet, the Macy’s furniture
the electric stove, the baby’s car-seat
please just let put my head down
to the hum of the washer & dryer
my eyes are parched & polluted
let me get on my knees
for God, my husband, the governor
the police, the mailman
the electrician, the bill collectors & the IRS
let me apologize for
my mother’s mistakes, PMS, my emotional state
for being a slut, for being a prude
for leading you on, for turning you down
for trapping you
between my legs
with my words
with my uterus;
I’m sorry
for not being blond enough
for not being thin enough or
pretty enough & for not
having big enough breasts
I’m sorry I’m not perfect
& now I think I’ll try & be me
if someone will just tell me
who or what the fuck it is
I’m supposed to be.
END
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