I think of the men I've exhaled
Salty and in charge,
They swirled around in my thoughts
Entrancing me with shadowy shimmers
Cosmic vibrations and mystic visions
Enveloped across my soggy sore soul.

I ate my own soul for lunch today.
I am my own and my own angel
Programmed and primed not delicate enough for words
I wish I could entwine my pragmatic, cutlass wisdom
Into the sticky, soggy, sore soul.

Carol Ann Duffy could write for trillions of years
About me, about her, about every one of the millions to be heard
Exhausting is the useless, their one *****, soft and shallow pierces
It's a story we all may very well know
However it's another thing to drop this muted partner
Dump it into the Indian Ocean, let it go
Continue forward, marching on.

I loved myself more every yesterday
Seems my youth is draining with age

"Wasn't I beautiful, fragrant and young?"

Perhaps, but no one said the Queen was built in a day.

Wisdom should entwine my soul, not listless lovers
"I refuse to give up my obsession"
But you mishear, somehow my obsession is ME

ME ME ME

My sticky, soggy, sore soul.
The girl with unkempt hair and a messy soul.