Brokenhearts have fled today, empty chasms bled today, dogs have bit the hands that fedtoday, but I'm feeling strangely semi-okay. No, that's a lie. We'll all dietoday, we're dying every day, I'm dying a little bit every day and then am rebornas an infantile adult, as were you. Soldier, drop and give me $50. Do I hear 60,60 to the man who knew too little to climb the heights of the highest mountainand there ain't no river wide enough to stop me from going through this door, soplease move so I don't need to push, shove, shout and twist. But I'll justsqueeze by as I have been, no, don't get up. Where's my car that I drove toNowhere, Wisconsin and then left back at home on the table with my keys parked inthe highway. I've dealt cards for my sorrows and shames and pains and card gamesthat I always lose, but I'm not a loser, I'M NOT THE LOSER YOU THINK I AM, but Ican't always get what I want, but I always try to get what I need, but I only getsome necessities of the physical, tangible, mass confusion. No predispositionsfor you too misinterpret or hold against me, so sorry to disappoint, but I'vebecome so sick, and I just feel like a natural woman but I'm not, so instead I'lljust need (some time alone) to let the words drip and ooze from my lips andcongeal as ink on a page, a page, my kingdom for a page. I'm looking for theplaces only I would know, but I'm lost in space - outside right now, young man,wait until your father gets home is where the heart is but I've got no home, Ican't get no S-A-T-I-S-F-A-C-T-I-O-N or respect, whatever happened to gossamerdreams on low-flying silverfox cloudy days are here no more, no more, you wantMORE?! My London Bridge over my troubled water is burning and falling down. (Ineed out but I can't ask for it, stop squashing me down into a Play-Doh can.) I'mnot on drugs, on Life, or on any legal substances, illegal ones included. Mypen's just telling me what to write and I'm cooperating for once in my life.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.