No bone weighs like the soul, until you have arthritis; and that there is never to stop loving her.

At the end of this poem, I say that life
it's the something I'm worth behind a showcase
turning yellow to the dry reflection of the sun,
and that no bone weighs like the soul,
until you have arthritis.
At the end of this poem, I say that as a child it is difficult to be a child
when they shave your hair at midnight,
but not as difficult as the fear that it will grow again.
At the end of this poem, I throw stones at the hippies
Communist blockade, I don't use a condom if I love you,
I fight with the customer service department,
I see tattoos that I will never get,
and wedding dresses that I will never wear,
At the end of this poem, I cut my hair with a cutter,
They break two teeth, I say that my first time was anal,
my husband is dying, my cats are dying,
my veins itch, I suck a cock for a ballon,
I shot a waitress in Wyoming,
I end up living in a dictatorship,
and I buy sexier shorts
because my ass is growing.

At the end of this poem, it's February, I'm 14 years old
And I'm on my knees before my mother telling her that I love her,
that there is never to stop loving her,
and it's not my fault weighing less
be more fragile, speak softly, or be transsexual.


At the end of this poem ...


I stop writing​

 

twisted like a dog's leg.

 

Real, like twisted.

 

Nice way to end your poem.

Have a nice day,

 

Actually, it's not a "way", it's the truth