Perma-Bitch

cross-legged killjoy 

in black nylon leggings

reminding my daughter

to keep the sand inside the box

girl you are 42 years old

I tell myself in a group chat

stop wasting time

feeling embarrassed

asking for what you want

maybe I can blame it on 

the others I tell myself 

watching a puffed-up robin

shit all over my car 

no one was ever strong 

enough to wrest control 

from a perma-bitch like me

especially not the ones 

who thought they could 

grip the gritty fraying leash

clenched between my teeth

stop me from clipping on

my own haughty harness

to hold me back from a number

of brazen life-affirming truths