my mama used to tell
me I had something special
and I used to believe it with
every fiber of my being,

and when i was stretched
thin into highschool thinkin'
I was a sinner I still hefted
her words up on my
shoulders and plowed on
sure I could do no wrong--

you gotta off the weak limbs
**** out the poison, cut the
bad blood so I did and
realized that I'm no
special child, no bell
around my neck
nor gold in my veins
and I've always equated
worth to *** or how
well I can shake my hips

Strangest thing, enough
when I ain't no thing at all,
just a regular doe,
jane smith
baby blue
mint green
with a different
name.