(This is a response to one of her poems)
I can’t tow the liven
this illusion that I might be good enough
dangling before me,
a mirage before a
desperately thirsty man.
I don’t wake up early in the morning
in a panic the way
you do,
but sometimes I go to sleep that way,
scared of deadlines I can’ keep
doom hanging over me.
Praying you hit the breaks
To avoid catastrophe
When I’ve already
Smashed into the brick wall
You claim I hit my head against
I’m not good enough
, free enough
or even intelligent
enough,
I can’t tow the line
Or be what you need me to be
Or want me to be,
an illusion,
a fantasy,
I am a pumpkin again.
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