I was born a depressed bastard

                with hand-me-down clothes

                                and a mother that had to work

                three jobs to feed my sorry-ass brothers

                                and my sorry-ass self.

We stood in lines at churches

                and waited for free food.

We had food stamps

                and WIC

                                and all the embarrassing assistance

                I didn’t want my schoolmates to know about.

I can only remember that in black & white.

But even the future is based on grayscale.

These days the existence

                (and persistence)

of the lack of color in my life

is pushing me to my limits

                and I realize that

I want more.

I want to learn the secrets of the trade:

If you love me, I’ll love you.

I want to find the fountain of youth:

I’m only as young as I feel.

I want to defeat the world:

Vote NO on Proposition Suicide.

I want to run through fields of daisies, roll around in tall grass

                and sit on a home-made porch-swing.

I want to love my pets, grow my plants

                and have time enough to check my makeup before I leave the house.

                                You know, all that marketing-fairy tale shit.

Who says you have to be born a royal? Who says princesses can’t be made?

This is a stick-up. Give me what I want.

                        Make me a Queen.