As a teen

Profanity was my armor as a teen
I heard it in school - it smelt to me
like blood does to a carnivore,
tasted like my choice dish that
I couldn't let go, so as I used it
I felt in control and saw it as
the start of a revolution in me.

My parents hated me the most
and they felt terror as I spoke.
They loved me more than my sibling
Lu, who went to school in Beijing.
My dad was home on Mondays and
my mom was home on Sundays, so I
stayed quiet two consecutive days.

To rid me during holidays, I was
sent to my grandma's place
I threw my cousin into Lammond bay
so she spread rumors without delay
"Su swore and called God gay", which
upset my grandma so she sent me away.
I will show her it wasn't my mistake.

I was with a cute owl that whole night
when I actually saw a black rose bloom.
The owl tried to make some rose-hip jam
I hit him in the head, called him thug.
"Je suis desole, ne chatier pas moi"
he cried, and light, light the night smiled.
Then I fell off the tree with a smash.

My parents promptly arrived to find
my ankle bruised bad as a rainbow -
red, blue, green and indigo - my naive
cousin of deceit watching with regret.
Soon we hugged and smiled like mates,
made up before I left, but she is a bitch
and I cursed her under my breath.

Those words had life, but I used them so
much they are now old and almost dead
that I've laid my weapons to rest.

This is a sad attempt at Jim Simmerman's twenty little poetry projects. It is a challenging task to combine the projects into one poem.