it must be hell, this hollowed shell of girl-thing

you'd thought you'd raised.

and is there guilt, did you make her

burn this way?

well, don't you dare be such a fool,

don't make my soul your sorrow,

you can't make me

worry that you're worried that i'm me.

and even GOD has not the power you know

you hold over your child.

so she will doubt, and she will fear for

did i choose?

well, i won't long be such a fool,

won't forget what it is you fear,

and you just can't keep me

worried that you worry that i'm me

you never think maybe maybe she's not getting better

cos she's just how she needs to be.

there should be guilt, you're the only

question she has left.

'Why aren't I my mother's anything?  Why can't she feel it when my soul is

singing out from under all the

petty shit we say each day

to tell her she is beautiful

even when she's in the way?'