There’s a song—something about
my pride, my soul,
my hurt-so-good, my juice.
my pride, my soul,
my hurt-so-good, my juice.
But it wasn’t any of those—
my fancy, my homeland,
my favorite dish.
my fancy, my homeland,
my favorite dish.
You can’t take, they can’t take away
my belly button,
my tits.
my belly button,
my tits.
They can’t scorch or kill,
can’t void or erase
my julip, my Daisy Mae,
can’t void or erase
my julip, my Daisy Mae,
my goodness sakes
alive—
can’t smash under their boots
and bury in the ground
can’t smash under their boots
and bury in the ground
my pickles, my kitschy pet snake,
my leaping tongue,
my dancing feet.
my leaping tongue,
my dancing feet.
None of any of these can they take away from me
(even though I still can’t remember
what the exact word was).
(even though I still can’t remember
what the exact word was).
Say the word
The word is Joy
