out my hair when I brush it. And I
always brush it too much. I pull on the
sheets, to my husband’s despair,
leaving him bare. I pull on my underwear

before my pants, doing a dance
to fit my fat *** all the way in.  Then I pull my
sweater on over my head, messing my hair up
once again. I pull out my laptop to do my

work. I pull out your picture and boy
does it hurt. Because I know I pulled your
strings. It’s just that I’ve been pushed
around so many times I feel like I’m pulled in

opposite directions. So, I pull out the *****
and make myself a drink because this one last time
I’m pulling all the stops to finally succeed.