Parasitic
You weren’t born like
she was. You weren’t born
loved, weren’t born held, weren’t born
tied; docked like a yacht into a gilded graveyard where
all the epitaphs read ‘cherished’. Ain’t no ugliness you can’t
break if you start young enough. Make them
walk right, talk right, tap their shins with whips, kiss
their cheeks with cold lips, keep them cold. Ice
doesn’t grow on trees.
Cuckoo.
You weren’t made to fit silk
and the blue dress lies like a shed skin on the bathroom floor
and you are the ugly pollywog daddy chose as his wisest afterthought.
He never was as clever as I am. You
would have looked better in aqua
like the spilt water you are.
Daisy Harris
Daisy Harris Poetry 