poem for Lyann

i want to scrub the snow white off my skin
exfoliate all my sin
it hurts like God inserting Adam’s rib
into Eve; or is it me?

i want to live on the edge
but afraid that the wind will break my fall
i want to dress the avant-garde
and stage a coup d'état

no longer satisfied with gardens
of the ordinary;
mundaneness is tyranny

will higher shoes make
the rest of me stand tall?

people stare at my face
i used to have such a glimmer;
now they see a blank page
not the writing on the wall

like the bourgeoisie who do not savour
and relish

i’d like to stay here with you a while