When I dressed like a secretary or perhaps an old maid
I received your clean-souled, thin-lipped approval
When I colored my hair beyond white lady shades
You set in motion witch-hunts for my removal
If only I could go back and not laugh quite so loud
Keep the mascara on stand by and teach from a podium
Curl my hair into bangs and look like a dowd
I might have kept free of your hostility and odium
Yet, I wish I would have come in reeking of the pot
(you and everyone else knew I smoked a lot)
Had more bumper stickers and told more tales
Kids learn from success but also from fails
Because fuck you for judging me based on my clothes
My car
My music
Most especially my zip code
You can rot with your frozen blonde hair and Coach glasses
You can stick your propriety right up your asses
I fucking love this. I had a conversation with a heavily tattooed woman in a bathroom last night. She was applying lipstick, and I had just compimented the shade of her dark purple hair. She told me about various other colors before it. She had nose rings. She had beautiful natural eyelashes and was saying she was still figuring out the makeup thing (which I've never learned to do). But she said now that her hair is purple, she doesn't draw all that attention from people who thought she looked strange.
ReplyDeleteAnd that story was a total aside. Your poem is brilliant.
ReplyDeleteOh, fabulous. I would love to put this on my door at work, but I'm sure someone with frozen blonde hair and Coach glasses would complain.
ReplyDeleteThis is simply great. I can't write an ode to save my life, and my rhymes are accidental at best.
ReplyDeleteI love this so much. Especially the last line which I hope to use some day.
ReplyDeleteKapow!
ReplyDeleteOh, I am going to love this month!
ReplyDelete