poster girl [drf1]
darling, you don’t need to burn me a crown
of conquests and polaroided memories;
don’t raise me a throne or grant me titles.
I am no revolutionary’s wife,
no leonine riot queen, megaphone
of yellowed newspapers and the roaring blood
of every wronged child in hand—
nor am I the girl dangling limp in your arms
as you step from the flames, lips parted
like legs, strategically bruised
and makeup unsmudged.
do not don a mask for me;
do not sail through time and space for me;
do not ride dinosaurs and slay big bads just to bring me home—
either way, I am not your fantasy
sleek with laminate,
frozen and handy, with hinged
joints and posable limbs.
I am not the mermaid at the prow
of your cause,
your reactor core
or the catalyst of your hero arc.
I am no symbol, the face
of no movement but my own.
but darling, if you ever need me
know you can find me at the foot of the book shop
on Powell St., notebook in hand, spinning
my flesh and mind into my own honest story.
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