My glasses are *****.
The clock says six thirty.
My brain is real flirty.
I'm missing my man.

With scribbles so wordy,
I sit here so boredly.
I miss him so sorely.
We'll meet when we can.

Being or seeming?
At first I was scared.
I was timid.
I tried to please,
but got in trouble anyway.
But when the changes came,
I was empty.
What you see is the real me.
I was worried.
I hated my image, but I ruminated.
I did things that should have been unspeakable.
I felt guilty. I felt free.
But I was still looking for the real me.

There are degrees of confinement,
And escape is not a crime.
But without a realignment,
I'm resigned to pantomime.

Pink is a pretty color,
But it might not mean what you think.
See, it's just an optical phenomenon.
It's not there when you blink.

There is no meaning other
Than the socially implied.
So stop your silly monologues
And keep your thoughts inside.