Proud of bruises that
Light up your legs
Proud of the way that you can’t hold a job
Inside of your hands
And nurture
Proud that you don’t want chilluns
And want your interesting freedom
Your renegade split ends hairdo frizzy “fuck you”
Proud of the way you won’ love a man
Say he him they all bad anyway
And they good for sex and to move things around
Place to place
Into your madness they go when they feel like they need some fire
But you dwindle down your day alone
Screw them anyway
Proud of your Mississippi phone bill and your
Cigarettes with
The crimson tipps
And the soggy tear drip on the middle of it
Delighted with the way you can run away
