sunday girl's got the sunday
blues, a shade of red--
melodramatic, says,"shit!"
when her blue paint falls
across her white white paper.
nice artwork, i say and she
scowls back. baby girl's been
having bit of a hard time
the round center i used to
imagine will never crop up,
circles are too pure, too
unknowing of their own
consequence. she had, of
course, had a name, and a
structure to fit into, her mind-
set blurred to swivel into
handling two lives at once
but they wouldn't let her,
said that she was too young
and too damn pretty to
become a middle-aged teenager
with a baby on her hip 24/
7, and so they cut away the part
that her body would mould to,
and now, she sits, empty, flat
and undefined.
circles are too sacred, she whispered
and shed the tear.