Am I arrogant in my confidence
That different rules apply to me,
That I am not what is presumed
(Though I’ve proven I may be)?

Am I wrong to look at others
And see them for what they’re worth,
And know that it is greater than
The profit of my birth?


My life is based in lies:
Truths untold
Hide me from the prying eyes,
The judgements we’re supposed to make.
Everything I’ve ever heard
Tells me how my actions must be seen,
And who am I to say it’s wrong?
Who am I to say I’m sane?
Who am I to say I care, when I’m gone;
That I’m centered, when I’m drawn;
That every word I’ve ever spoken
Isn’t some evil, manipulative song?
Who am I to say that I deserve
While others have the right to say “what nerve!”
And like the wretch I’ve always been
I haven’t got the nerve to argue very long.
Best that I just carry on,
Trying to try on nothing different;
Because it seems the greatest gift that I can give,
To leave behind the smallest footprint.


How can I explain
That all that came so easy
Everything that should be
Came to be so hard
I know the fault is mine
As if that should make it fine
As if acknowledgement can make a problem disappear
But no, it never does
And no solutions light like doves
On the edges of the windows which I never seem to open
Yet always go to as a token
Of all the things I hope and fear.

The Council of a Coward

I lost the words that I was seeking
And with them, any meaning
Of the cowardice that plagues me
And the meeting in my head

Of all my paltry virtues
And their tyrants, and the fortunes
Of failures that ever seek me
And the mistakes that keep them led

And the demons that I’m keeping
And every grim that does a reaping
And every chance that almost meets me
But then finds that I have fled

To a place worse than the last
A darker mirror of the past
Endless reflections staring back at me
Endlessly filling me with dread

But I find I cannot look away
(Or else will not — who can say?)
And the only thing that’s clear to me
Is the glass and what you said

That the choice is mine alone to make
The power, mine alone to take
But the only truth that stays with me
Is that when I broke the glass, I bled.

Glass House

I’m in a bad way:
I’m waking up late;
There’s no reason to get up,
So in my bed I stay.

This whole day I’ve been grumpy —
Restless, depressed;
I often disapprove of chaos,
But maybe that is best.

Maybe that is what I need:
To be, not just a mouse;
But a bearer of responsibility,
Instead of a girl in a glass house.


I’m caught:
I feel the grip upon me.
What a pretty darkness;
What a freeing weakness.
Officially, I fought;
It didn’t get me easily.
What a pretty lie!
I gave myself quite willingly.
I believe this is my lot,
To be caught up by this gravity.
And who can say it’s not?
Perhaps it is my destiny.
In it I’ve been caught,
And the dark closes around me:
What a pretty hell
For I, the ne’er-do-well.