The Unfortunate Death of Teenage Rebellion
I want to dye my hair the color Fearless,
the ocean waves cresting on my scalp.
Black deep enough to drown in on the waterlines
of my eyes. Fishnet skin up my arms
and down my legs, chains like weapons
draped across apostasy thighs. Hands
made of brass bones, collar bones made
of knives, mouth full of daggers.
I want to dye my hair the color
Fuck the System, the color
Pissing Off my Parents, the color
Who the Hell Was I Ten Years Ago–
the color Naive Enough to Be Unafraid,
arson’s handiwork blue-tipped on my scalp.
Black top pavement hot enough to burn
under feet that still don’t know better,
bleeding into lungs young enough
to still hold a measure of the old song.