to my dearest father,
scraps of your drawings
haunt me tonight
the garb of a heroine
from a world of the future
Am I her?
I think I found my calling
on this Earth
I’m ready
let the drums beat
to the sound of my fierce steps
strutting through the tedious streets
with eyes of envy left in the dust
the unfortunate are leading the fortunate
the minority is now the superiority
let them pierce my body
until no flesh can be seen
for I will bleed for you
always
-my father came home from work one day and showed me a drawing he sketched of star war’s princess padma’s wardrobe. this stuck with me. the poem is deeper than it appears…basically be true to your identity…
Amber is the Color of Her Energy 