i was supposed to be delicate

instead of silk i am velvet,

instead of milk i am wine,

instead of april showers, a gota fria, 

violently turning the tide.

i was supposed to have fingers for playing piano,

to wear ivory gloves of lace

instead i am ink stained and sturdy

bavarian slopes, the bones in my face.

i was supposed to be a siren

technicolor and blue when i cry

a melancholy baby hollering silent gossamer sighs

instead i am a whimpering brute

scarlet spider veins pool by my eyes

and never a girl or a storybook nymphet

i was supposed to be, but i’ll never be delicate.