I'm Irish. (for Bill Barrett, R.I.P.)

Do you want to know me? I asked you a question. Are you going to answer or are you too busy staring at my eyes? Yeah that's what I am. Blue eyes, black hair. I colour the hair. Sure I do shave it clean off too. You ask me, long hair only brings a woman trouble but you didn't ask me. Nobody asked me. Nobody asked me what I wanted to be. My ancestors didn't give me a fucking choice. Nobody ever handed us anything on a silver platter. We wouldn't've accepted it anyway. But that's how it goes. Take it. Nothing I have in this world I didn't make for myself. You heard me. Don't need a university education to be somebody. But being somebody won't get you through the hard times. God gets you through the hard times. Hard times? Not just people dying, stuff like that, but family things. You know what I mean. Church got us feeling so shameful we're scared to try to change the bad things because we're not good enough. So we distance ourselves from the problem, anger as a shield. You want to know where my passion comes from, my anger? Ask my ancestors. Ask why the county's not named after us anymore. Ask why we drink like fish out of water, struggling to breath. Ask why we struggle our whole lives trying to BE somebody only to find (shame shame) that it's not good enough either, it doesn't measure up. Want out of the cycle? You have to be somebody. But fame and notoriety go hand in fucking hand. My grandfather killed himself. He had it all. He made pictures of famous people. My silence in the family is his blood on my hands. You want me to suck it up? Aw princess, whatsamatter? You don't like it when I sound like this? Don't worry baby, I can handle it, I'm Irish, remember? Sit down and eat your potatoes. I made them just for you. No, really, it's fine. I'll just go wash my hands. I'm fine, really. Eat before it gets cold.