Such A Disappointment, Mother - (poem)

Where were you, Mother?

All those letters that you had sent,

All that money you had spent,

Where were you, Mother?

What were you, Mother?

A conduit of conduct because you and Daddy had to fuck intoxicated two feet from a trunk? 

Were you a blessing or luck?

Good fortune or dumb?  

Was you singing or sung?

Was you stringing or strung?

Never told me what to do when my stockings run,

or when the boyz cum - how come?

What was you, Mother?

Unlike any other,

got two-half brothers can't even find,

All these years didn't mind

when you towered with a pillow and tried to smother

the life that you gave me...

Guess I'll never get another...

But Mother, Mother,

I'll never call again to say hello

or see how your day go,

my skirt is too short

& you're too so-so,

don't understand my get up and go

or why I rage as a sage 

all of The State will try and deport me

but I'm wondering why you didn't abort me,

left Dada to raise me,

a real Torquemada Mamma,

and this armada 

you cannot raise!

Crying like a tourniquet, no one's catching this bouquet,

Momma what can I say?--  

--Put Jesus in a grave and give me three days,

'cause to memories and injustice

there are no more slaves.

It's a Kangaroo Court 

and I'm not your fucking Joey, Mummy.  

I've got no face to save,

or saving grace,

tied up in leather and lace,

scarred my face and I will leave this place,

while they haze you for being absent 

your letters didn't fill The Void,

I'm your fucking daughter, not a Tinker Toy,

sorry to disappoint Mother, 

wasn't just another fucking boy -

today did I steal your joy???

Well, forever you stole my womanhood 

and sold my womb,

nothing but lies in those letters that bind

B-I-B-L-E find out what it means to me,

carry your crucifix all on your own 

because Mommy, you left me Home Alone.  

You weren't there when I was pitching,

or bitching about being Egyptian.

But it's all good under this hood, it's all alabaster,

we got a common ancestor,

and they ain't from Manchester!

I'm cast from Paris and from plaster.

So Mommy say your prayers,

to your friars and bears,

this Goldilocks is uncomfortable,

this Goldilocks tosses and turns.

And when they come with their faggots they'll take turns,

'cause I'm The Fire-starter,

smelling long-pig when it burns.   

When my soul yearns for completion, you comment on my complexion 

and I knew you'd never understand,

because you was too busy holding Grandpa's hand.  

But I stand on my own,

on top of Adam's gland.