we can be like alice
but not like the one in chains
we will be free, freer, freest.

swallow the magic potion,
shrink from the drink that dripped
onto our palms.

your palms will be sweaty and cold pressed to my face-
your eyes are ice, your love is lice
it makes me scratch my head.

we'll be small
but we'll feel twenty thousand feet tall.
we are a leaf of grass.

maybe it's just the change in the weather,
but i want to shrug on your sweater,
and ride your miniature horse until sunrise.

hushed voices are almost screaming
and careful footsteps seem to be running
i'm thinking of the way i used to feel.

beautiful??
lovely??
a godess??
stunning??

worth it.

riding those miniature horses
until sunrise
seems to be a waste of time again

because when morning comes
they are always men again,
and i don't want to be small anymore.