When I paint my face
I don't become a clown or a Hindu god
but I get frightened of myself

I run outside
people move away, they let me
feel that I'm dangerous

it vibrates in my blood
to the rhythm of the hammers
of the demolition workers behind the fence

In the middle of the city, I am alone
with clenched fists and fire-
breathing curses

no one takes me as I
am, only policemen stop
and address me, Yes, right, I'm okay

it's just paint, I'm almost home
but maybe you happen to know
who I might vote for?