legs stick-straight
my hips don't gyrate
my hair's not well-trained
and my ******* aren't the same
size
my eyes
aren't bambi-watching-his-mother-get-strapped-to-the-back-of-a-van-BIG
they're not blue like the atlantic, but grey like
cigarette ashes.
my eye-lashes aren't a foot in length,
they don't billow when I blink
and I've lost so many, a ton,
ones that I didn't even
get to
wish
on.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
legs stick-straight
my hips don't gyrate
my hair's not well-trained
and my ******* aren't the same
size
my eyes
aren't bambi-watching-his-mother-get-strapped-to-the-back-of-a-van-BIG
they're not blue like the atlantic, but grey like
cigarette ashes.
my eye-lashes aren't a foot in length,
they don't billow when I blink
and I've lost so many, a ton,
ones that I didn't even
get to
wish
on.
This is a slam poem in the works.
I don't slam.
But I want to.
Request permission to use this poem