I thought insulin was what they put in sleeping bags.
I probably should not have called my class in feminist literature Books by
Girls.
When I compared humanity to a flower growing in the shadow of a
munitions factory,
it may be that I was not being fair to flowers.
I thought someone was watching and keeping score.
I believed the desire for revenge was a fossil fuel that you could drive a
lifetime on.
I thought suffering had something to be said for it.
I said, "Love me better or go to hell."
I said, "I will forgive when I am good and ready."
I said, "Rumours of my happiness have been greatly exaggerated."
I still don't understand why what I give and what I get back in return
never seem to weigh then same.
My favorite days were grey- troubled, moody, and infinite.
Each time I plunged into cold water, I was happy
in a way that can never be destroyed.
I went a million miles, I don't know why-maybe some kind of quest,
maybe to hide.
All those years I kept trying and failing and trying
to find my one special talent in this life-
Why did it take me so long to figure out
that my special talent was trying?
