I never forgot the time you told me
that as a kid you used to paint roaches
with fingernail polish
in a poverty-stricken rez home
I imagine you alone, wild-haired and dirty
in a house full of drunk adults
it reminded me of my own neglect
it reminds me of what I went without
but how unusual it was for you
to see beyond all of that dirty
and paint a roach so pretty
I imagine your walls
crawling with little slivers of blues, reds, and greens
scuttering metallic things dashing in and out of everything
catching the moonlight thru a dirty screen
I wish I had known to paint the ugly things
instead of trying to stomp out and hide
the poor dullness inside
from the bedbug bites to the head full of lice
I wish I had grown up in a middle-class life
but it wasn't so
it just wasn't meant to be
maybe I should paint some roaches
and let them scatter (thru the cracks of my mind)
brings some color to the gray matter
and maybe then I'll be fine