No use for these false profits gained through silver-tongued
snake oil lies
no use for a dimly perceived diminished ability to rise
without another well-meaning sister around to show me how
for a small fee
an energetic exchange paid
I was born without any sisters.
I don’t need to rise up.
I already burn bright.
My head’s held high enough
and the luck of thieves has just as much to do with it–
that’s one thing no sister will tell you
because she won’t know in what way
she could ever manage to sell you
a stealing through shadows or one’s own
ancient blood claim
a whisper at dusk of your long-forgot name.
Don’t sell me the musk of a sex that has always been mine.
Don’t sell me the self which I’ve already defined.
I do not need your healing for I never was sick.
I am the bastard of vagrants.
I have my own tricks.