What do they want from us?

When I grow up I want to be
the clip that holds your hair back
and when you ride your bike you won't go off track.

When I am grown I wish to be
the foam that rides upon the sea
fizzing with the joy of speed, loose and free.

When I am older I want to be
the raspberry juice that dribbles down your vampire face,
the tumbling drips your tongue will chase.

Why must they lasso my innards to a chair
and say, you'll make a good banker, now sit there?

American sentence

I fight most against that which I expect to be expected of me.

Manga girl

Breakably unbreakable with her marble eyes
fixed on the road ahead we know her lycra catsuit
is spraycanned to within an inch of her lycra life
hiding nothing except everything,
which is what she left on the bus
in the suitcase, behind the dartgun
wedged under skyhooks and rope.

She anchors earth to sky with heels so high
she looks down on us like a goddess
and wonders why us mortals
expect so much from her and yet
so little.