I'm proud to play the Pickled Patsy,
Ratty, tattered,
Bastard of my make believe
And battles made up backwards.
Grasping for the rattled smatterings of words born,
Cackling like serpent's dirge;
Smirking, I've unearthed
Some scourge of hurt
That no one asked for.
Nasty Nancy,
Tattletale tramp;
Cramped between my fancy pants
Demands
And solemn glances.
Dancing on my garden,
As I bargain for my trampled herbs, entranced.
Spank me like a British nanny.
Cranky cabbage patch doll
That falls for every glimmer of romance.
Balling up my bother
Till it's taller
Than my roof;
Stalling in the cauldron
As I scald
Debating what's to lose.
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