Very occasionally, and for the briefest moment,
before the guilt-weight of bohemian single-parenting settles back on my shoulders,
I get this glimmer that I must be doing something right,
because not only is my daughter a surprisingly well-adjusted, gentle, and compassionate person,
she's also the coolest, most artistic 14 year-old I've ever met.
In such moments, I could die happy,
knowing that my baby will live on, carrying the power
to blow every motherfucker away at will.
Starting with the teachers and students at New School, who have already sat up and taken notice,
exempting her from routine classwork until she had finished this piece.
Such was their respect.