So here I am, the woman with the ugly hair,
& the little alien in her head - who fell down
and died on being told how bad I looked; it
added, the kids said so too - my work to be
done by an idiot; - so everybody, that's me,
I am the idiot who creates a miserable life -
the spiritually informed claim we create our
own lives - thus I'm the dunce
Surrounding myself with wonderful people
who can see my many shortcomings and
do not hesitate to convey their intelligent
opinions to me, the only plan I can see is
to shave my head, find a temple in Tibet
or Bangladesh and start making amends
for offending all with my terrible hairstyle,
clearly it is a rebellion against
All principles of beauty, requiring many
lifetimes of abject service that can't pay
for the sin of ugliness, my slow fingers
never fixing my hair correctly….
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem