Can't Stand the Rain: against your window

That painting you painted is starting to bleed-
Right from her fingers,
Right from her knees.

Her eyes shed red tears filled with sorrow and pain-
As though it's her fault,
As though she's to blame.

You get angry and frantic, trying hard to work it out.
You panic and worry,
You scream and you shout.

She's ruined your life, she's off the beaten trail.
Her colors are blurry,
Her skin has turned pale.

You refuse to accept it, this is not what you planned.
She was designed to be special,
She was supposed to be grand.

Now the paint is running, after years of abuse.
She's rebelling, she's defiant
She's stepped out of your shoes.

She has made herself something you do not understand.
No matter that she's beautiful;
She's not what you planned.

This image, this portrait that you spent so long painting,
It's ruined, it's tarnished,
It's not yours, it's tainted.

[She screams]
“How could you do this?
How could this be?
How could you not care
That the painting is ME.”

I'm changing-
I'm human-

Go figure.

I'm flawed, but you can call me Meg

She wears her hair in curly pigtails
And doesn’t mind the sloppiness.
She goes days without washing it,
Embracing the accumulated grit from a hard slogged week.

She refills her favorite mug as many times as possible
With the coffee that fuels her overall stamina.
As a result of this tragic caffeine dependency,
Her teeth are permanently stained in certain spots.

She bites her fingernails compulsively
When life’s stresses get particularly unpleasant.
She leaves them natural- unpolished-
Because it chips off anyway,
So why bother?

Her eyebrows slowly but surely merge
After months of letting them go.
Plucking and grooming takes too much time-
Time that she would rather not sacrifice
For superficial desires.

When she’s at home, she’s in scrubs-
The same outfit every night.
It’s a source of comfort that she anticipates
After the effort to primp for a job
She feels indifferent about.

She knows she’s odd;
Totally aware of her quirks.
They used to bother her.
But not anymore.
They used to haunt her.
Until she chose to think otherwise.

She knows she’s odd,
And she doesn’t much mind.
Being imperfect
Is perfectly fine.

Detroit Annie, Hitchhiking- Judy Grahn

Her words pour out as if her throat were a broken artery

and her mind were cut-glass, carelessly handled.

You imagine her in a huge velvet hat with great

dangling black feathers,but she shaves her head instead

and goes for three-day midnight walks.

Sometimes she goes down to the dock and dances

off the end of it,

simply to prove her belief

that people who cannot walk on water are phonies,

or dead.

When she is cruel, she is very, very cool

and when she is kind she is lavish.

Fisherman think perhaps she’s a fish,

but they’re all fools.

She figured out that the only way

to keep from being frozen was to

stay in motion, and long ago converted

most of her flesh into liquid.

Now when she smells danger,

she spills herself all over,

like gasoline, and lights it.

She leaves the taste of salt and iron

under your tongue, but you don't mind.

The common woman is as common as the reddest wine.