i didn't understand betty boop's appeal
till i saw a few of her cartoons for myself
most her life, my mother sought approval
from a pedophile, she too old when they met
pregnant, my mother was a goldilocks
making a little girl, mini-her, just right
she was a compulsive liar, as is now known
a fact unadmitted till she was years dead
unable to defend or bend, her truth is gone
but i've grown to embrace and love the myth
how she loved african violets, blooming in neglect
the window sills of dry-dust dirt, but still alive
or how i love fuchsias, opposite, petals wilt
need tender care, need expertly wetted roots
prickly violets and pensile, fragrant fuchsias
she couldn't be soft and i'd never be hard
took decades and death for me to realize we
just two shades of purple, no better, no worse
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