hold me down to the
stage;
today
I cannot make pretty songs of us
like
how much I weigh
I'm one hundred and thirty three pounds
in love with you
I'm
twenty eight years too old and
twenty eight years away from your legs
I'm
blonde
I'm
a lady
a waiting woman
making food,
away from your mouth
I'm making
mistake after distaste for
this pattern this
extra pace for shapes that
never fit us so
when I get dressed and when I
detest it I'm
trying something new I'm
having
nothing to do with you