Waiting

There is time for work,
time to close your eyes late at night,
time to be,
your kids smile in the morning like moons, a bright jewel
under the charcoal's skin.

They have tea and say such pretty things to each other.
I wish I could say the things
they say.
What i have is little is true.
I wonder how they live the way they do,
going on picnics, going to the beach,
getting so educated and acting so proper.

I know.
My kids would love picnics.
They would surely love the beach, but then I think
they'll get spoiled and think the world of us.
I want so much
for their happiness to wilt.

Harder and harder I work, trying
to step forward, trying to become a person.
They push me back with color, lines, papers.
I dream of
kill kill fuck fuck.

They spoke of liberty, they spoke
as teachers:
"Someday, you will rule
this country."

and now, all my negativity
eats me whole, shapes me into her whore.
I can't argue.