I wanna be a poet when I grow up, Mrs. Evans
I want my past to terrorize me in my sleep
and die wif a needle in my vein.
I want ta be poor and impoverished
like third world childrens
and fall asleep ta the sound of bombs
in my tin hut castle.
I want whiskey tooo rot my mind away
but lift me to brilliance first.
I want one night stands full of screams
and warts that only hurt
in the handsome doctor's latex grip.
I want ta grow a beard like daddy had
before he hung himself in the garage
and sit on corners begging
for peoples tooo read my book.
I wanna feel the shadow of death
and write about how he terrifies me
becauss mommy will be dead,
and unable scare him away.
I want to be a poet becuz
gram-grams read me Ginsberg before bed
and called me her little beatnik,
I cant wait too be a poet
and get famouser when I'm dead!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sad