"12 March 2015"

We are crafted with wobbly tears-stained fingertips,
with buckled morals
and fear encrusted perspectives.
as sharp as a sword
as cold as august

i am an artist
and i am a daughter

it takes a broken system
to design a broken daughter

as each intellectual hymns roll around your tongue,
like every loose love
from your aching flesh--
intertwined with denial and enforced opinions

it takes a broken system
to break apart
every memory,
every juvenile hope,
toward a far-away daughter
drenched down of fourteen thousand waves
of slurs and beaten down
disappointment.

i am a stone cold liar,
young and impulsive,
and you can tie me down but
not my stupid feelings poured in forms of poetry.

so give a gentle
trashed farewell
to the daughter you never knew.