You'll learn how to miss the good
The way you miss your mother's insults
Be some other than a putrid daughter panting to be believed
You'll love your hands all streaming redness and chipped navy polish
Without another pair smothering your fingertips, pruning your preferences
Be okay with your own cruelty,
Ceace restrain on your appetency
You wouldn't wait for their attention or beg for their in parts-forgiveness
Spit on their likings
Live for your own crooked vagaries;
Be an efflux of a fountain
never to run a stream of your water to their littorals
12/7/2023