[Bits of] The Mother’s Prayer for Its Daughter
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
May she play the Drums to the first rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
O Lord, break the Internet forever,
That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister,
Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends,
For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.