"tummies" poems
I wear a jacket almost ever day
To hide the little bit
Of my stomach poking out
I notice flat tummies
So I cross my arms over mine
I usually put my hair in my face
So people won't notice my dorky glasses
Sometimes I try to go without them
But its hard to see and read things
I wear a lot of makeup
As an attempt to hide the imperfections of my face
I don't like going without it because
I feel people always stare
I know everyone has things
They don't like about themselves
And you may think differently
But if you try and tell me
I end up not believing you
I think you're just lying to me
So I'll feel better about myself
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
while I may do you perfectly. the snow angels on gasoline st., did you
see them? All of the houses were dripping wet too, one girl with gold laces on her leopard shoes wore red plastic pants; totally soaked to the bone.
to train ourselves to brave the heat of each others' bodies as we awaken in one small bed, one small blanket. the both of us yawn. it's so fun to make waffles but neither of us like to eat preference. I love you to death but prefer to brush my teeth alone- one tooth at a time.
embrace your new t-shirt, even though not everyone enjoys a good show of a flock of crows. hand drawn indie wicker-hipster prints. coffee by the pint. you crack me up like vitrifying glass sheens of the individual bubbles in a bubble bath or the ****** glazed eyes of the monsters' eye while a shark attacks.
creaky sounds of bodies mapped by fingers, tickled tummies rippled by listening to witch house singers. you crack me up, count chocula. It's Saturday, I love to laugh while laying down. everybody's funnier when they're laying on the ground. we toast to ghosts.
luminous lengths of birthday candles
lickediddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd d 0 y0urself as best you can
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
United our toes
As our blood flows
Ice cream & gummies
Fill our tummies
Sunk in bed
You asked for head
I doved in the covers
Locked lip lovers
Singing house and blues.
In a night for two.
Nothing ever felt better
You moaned
Only together
We make ice cream & gummies
Taste better.
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 12:22 PM UTC
The witty mother cat galloped everywhere
Everywhere and Anywhere
Just to feed her kittens' hungry tummies
For yummy food they dream, at times!
One day, the witty mother broke the gate
To a luxurious well-provided estate
Yet she could only grab a Cake,
But a full cake, mouth-watering Choco-Cake!
She hopped and jumped and rolled
Just to protect it from the Afghan Hound
And reached it for her two tiny kittens
In despair, she badly wanted it too!
So she prounounced to her kittens:
"I will cut the cake into two exact halves"
And so she cut, as carefully she can!
Awfully, one became larger and one smaller!!
Then the witty mother cat got this idea:
"Why not eat a little of the larger piece?
So, both pieces will be equal in size?"
And there went the mother cat...
Eating a little of the larger piece
She tasted the Choco-Cake in a race
Again, one went larger and another smaller!!
The witty mother cat silenty became happy...
"Why not eat a little of the larger piece?
So, both pieces will be equal in size?"Read more →
And there went the mother cat...
Giving a taste to the choco-Cake again!
And it went on this way:
Of one being smaller and the other larger,
And the witty mother cat kept eating
The Cake-piece by piece!
Atlast the cake became smaller and smaller
Yet the kittens' didn't get any!
The witty mother kept eating many
And the cake never got cut equally!
With the witty mother finishing it fully!!
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
*listen you pretty girls
and tormented boys
heed this warning tale
and avoid bloated tummies
and crushed *****
song of Bad Boy Nimko
here below this bridge
each night
I met pretty Akako
And each night I whispered
sweet nothings
and poured myself
into her
But ah, now this same bridge
of pleasure is a bridge of pain
she says she’s pregnant
and makes her claims
And so I must run away
turn my back on the village
and never return
for here is no gain
song of Bad Girl Akako
here below this bridge
each night I met Nimko
and I told him one night
he’s made me pregnant
and he said
he didn’t know about that
And never wanted
to see me again
and he called me a ****
And so I squeezed him tight
and he left with ***** crushed
flat as dumplings
under a carriage wheel
*And so
listen you pretty girls
and tormented boys
heed this warning tale
and avoid bloated tummies
and crushed *****
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 6:41 AM UTC
I'm surprised we're having a picnic on the east wing!
Our company almost never gives us anything!
Underpaid with no benefits makes this picnic even better
To think I was going to give in my resignation letter
With so many hamburgers, hot dogs, and more,
It's a fast food restaurant galore!
A table packed full with yummies.
Today, a lot of beef will be in tummies.
People reaching for their plates
The caterers come out of their waits
One by one, they serve each voracious goer
For a pay that probably couldn't get any lower
Janice comes, with her broken polish and nails
And a scream a joy echos out like whales
She's so drunk, oh my god haha she's so wired
It's the unpaid overtime or another threat of being fired
Poor thing... we finish our girl talk
and problems on my mind, I begin to walk
Feeling my appetite begin to poke me,
I bite into my hamburger with resounding glee
Nipping the bread, it's fluff presses against my lips
I close my eyes, as my senses go in dips
The precious aroma of divine baked bread
As my tongue and bun are set to wed.
Each bud met with delicious waters of steak
The ketchup creating a dreamy, saucy lake
Scrumptious, delicious
Incredible, nutritious...?
It doesn't matter, I've met my goal
And the taste, goodness it makes my mind roll
Forgetting everything while I finish the rest
Golly, this food is the best
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
There's been a disruption
in your body's
p a tt ern,
b-r-a-n-c-h-i-n-g
river ways
form a road map,
a
maternal
mosaic,
z
i
g
g
z a g g i n g
a c r o s s
peaks
.
.
.
and valleys,
******* >
bums ~
hips ~
and (~) tummies.
Vividly hued
in pinks or reds
or silver threads.
One-of-a-kind,
universal at the same time.
Glitter stria,
shiny, sparkly,
oh-so pretty.
Worn with pride!
Or do they hide?
They test you,
like any child,
REFUSING
to alter their behavior,
REGARDLESS
of how nicely you ask.
Baby's left her mark on you!
Love those lines
as artistic souvenirs,
acquired
on the long journey
to becoming a mother.
Like
Love
Letters
they always have a story.
What does your story tell?
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 8:34 PM UTC
Like stray dogs in suburbia we wander.
We once knew a path in our distant dog-year past
one our owners walked us down,
dragging us nowhere fast.
It was catholic school teachers,
conformist preachers
and all the other tame creatures who took us on our way.
We walked on their time,
to the beat of a drum our paws weren't made to pound.
And we were dragged by a noose (otherwise known as a leash)
but their language is not our language
so while I called it what it is
they called it keeping me safe.
What the masters don't know
is that sometimes they leave the wrong door open
and a fence in the yard or a parental guilt trip
feels about as big as a crack in the sidewalk to jump over
when the street looks like a filthy paradise
where things like loud are louder,
fast is faster,
scary, scarier,
and reality, realer.
Now we're never in any rush
because anywhere and everywhere is home
so simply staying in doesn't feel so bad.
Routine is no longer in our vocabulary.
Vocabulary is no longer in our collection of words
and our collection of words is no longer so clean.
We wander because ideas described to us as garbage
taste better than the textbook kibbles-n-bits
and even though it's not served hot
or in a bowl with our names on it
the fact that we found it ourselves
feels better than having our tummies rubbed
or making the grade.
None of this is to say that the old house
will never be home again.
Doggy doors are always open
and winters are always cold.
So once I've had enough of life's streets
teaching me more important things
than rolling over or playing dead,
things like knowing tricks don't always come with treats,
we might just go back inside.
And returning won't be our loss
because we'll be walking back in with unclipped claws for the first time
and with all our baby teeth and naive fears gone,
we just might bite.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
Kenya; the begotten daughter of your poor mother
Whose children starve and stave hunger in their tummies
Wallowing in mire of food destitution and diverse others
Wondering where to get victuals from as you have none to tax
Kindly look at your state officers the tummies are bulging
Occupying space all over, suffocating neighbours to the fringe
Tax the commonaplace tummies of your state officers
For them are plenty enough to give you revenue
In combat against hunger unto your children
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
Bluebell and Blossom were two little girls
One had straight hair the other curls
Their eyes were different shades of blue
And they both loved going to the zoo.
Bluebell liked the Panda bears with soft tummies
And lots of fur
Blossom's favourite was kangkeroo, she fed it leaves
And a chocolate chew.
They got on the red train and raced around
Faster and faster till they found
The cage with the Giraffes big and small
Sticking their heads through the open roof floor.
Back to the train then the pelican's van
Pink and prissy making a stand
Then the penguins joined in the fun
Lots of fishes for their tums.
Two little girls growing tired
Their feet wobbled, and heads bowed
Time for home with cake and cheese
And a drink of milk if you please.
For Evelyn and Florence
Love Grandma ***
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 3:43 PM UTC
This is for the girls who lie awake at night,
Pulling at the blankets to keep them warm,
Drenched in sins of deprecation.
Tossing and turning on their twin size beds,
because there is not enough room to fit expectations,
let alone their own.
This is for the girls who stare at themselves in front of their mirrors,
Pinching at the extra layers of skin that hang around their tummies.
Rolls of "fat" as they call it, I prefer the term "beauty."
This is for the girls who have shoulders are backs plastered in scars.
From the bras that were one cup size to small, overly adjusted and tightened straps.
This is for the girls who fall prey to the fallacies of magazine stands,
captivated by the cold letters bleeding off the covers:
"Three hundred, sixty-five ways to style your hair!"
"How to get the perfect ****
"Turn off the lights to look good naked!"
"How to make him love you!"
Pull apart the flesh, look beneath your skin,
you are not defined by the number of eyes that manifest lust towards you,
you are not the hands that plead to saunter their way toward your hips,
You are not the number of inches that space out your thighs.
Or the visibility of muscle that line up on your stomach.
You do not need to look good naked,
don't turn off the lights.
Your **** looks fine
Stop falling victim to the media
To the photo shopped ads of puppets who look nothing like you
Because your real
and if you want a man to love you, he must learn to accept you
with your extra flaws, our scars, and rolls of fat.
Because that sack of bones known as a model on a Cosmopolitan cover will not keep him warm.
It is inscribed in the atoms that make you a person
you are a three dimensional beautiful masterpiece
you are not a computerized pixelated image
reshaped and resized retouched and revised
stop letting society dehumanize a woman
your a woman
all the fury to slither through you limbs until you shake with and anger and purpose, acknowledge the value of your worth for you are more that just a waste of paper and space, you are space, you are human, your alive, and beautiful
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
After My Little Black Dog Died of Melanoma.
After the Lumps on Her Small Brittle Body Slowly
Burned to a Pile of Ash in the Vet’s Office. After My Step-Father
Drove in His Ostentatious Truck to Pick Up Her Remains. After I Cried
in My Dorm Room and Tried Not to Wake My Roommate.
Realization that My Loss Does Not Make Me Different. There Are
Graveyards That Span For Miles and They Are Filled With More
Dead Bodies Than I Have Ever Seen. There Are Hundreds of
Thousands of Children in the Foster Care System That Have
Never Met Their Parents or Maybe They Did and it Just Didn’t Work Out.
Kids Who Might Have Lived With Their Terminally Ill Parent(s) For Years
Not Just Days. Kids Who Never Sat in the Opened Up Trunk of Their
Mother’s Black Nissan Pathfinder at the Drive-In Movies. Kids Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Old Grandparents or Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Dead Grandparents. Kids Who Were Never Told Not to Throw Snowballs Because There Might be Big Chunks of Ice in Them. Kids Who
Never Had a Childhood Dog to Cry Over. Kids Who
Don’t Like to Read Because They Were Never Read
Bedtime Stories When They Were Younger. Kids Whose
Mothers Never Called Them Tweetie or Pumpkin or Honey or ***
Kids That Were Not Told to Just Go to the Bathroom When
Their Tummies Hurt Instead of the Health Room. Kids Who Never
Listened to the Spice Girls’ Album Spice World on Cassette on the
Way to the Store. Kids Who Never Got a Peach Drink Out of a Vending Machine at the Pick’N’Save on 27th Street and Still Don’t Know
Exactly What 50¢ Peach Drink Their Mother Bought For Them.
There Are Thousands of Dogs Euthanized Each Day Because of
How Sick They Are or Because They Were at a Shelter For Far Too Long
or Because They Are a Pitbull or a Rottweiler or Some Other
Irrationally Feared and Disliked Dog Breed. We Didn’t Euthanize My
Stage-Four-Cancer-Stricken Dog or Even Get Her Treatment Beyond
Pain Medicine Because We Were Selfish. We Do a Lot of Things Because
We Are Selfish. We Waited Five Days to Pull the Plug on My Vegetable
Mother Because We Were Waiting For a Miracle That We Knew Would
Never Happen Because She Stopped Breathing the Moment the
Aneurysm Burst. My Sister is Getting Married in June and My
Grandfather is Going to Walk Her Down the Aisle in My Mother’s
Place. My Grandparents Had to Move In With My Sister After My
Grandmother Fell Down Too Many Times and Didn’t Take Her Health
Problems Serious Enough. There Are Repercussions For Thinking
You Are Safe When You Are Really Not.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
(Sing along to tune of 'Strangers in the Night!"
TUMMIES IN THE NIGHT...
Tummies in the night, is this a romance,
Tummies in the night, what does enhance,
All our fat sharing love, would the air be blue?
Fatness in our thighs, was so enticing,
Fat double chins, were so exciting,
Fat around your guts, told me I must love you,
Tummies in the night,
Teletubbies ,we looked such a fright,
Two naked tubbies, we were tummies in the night,
up to the moment, when we ate our first jello,
Did our fatness grow,
Fat was just a dance away, a fat embracing lard away,
and ever since that night, we've been fat together,
Tummies at first sight, in fat forever,
It turned out so fat, for tummies in the night!!!!
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
The day started out just like any other
Screaming boys throwing toys
Feet pounding like thunder
Tummies were rumbling
Energies depleted
Mom decided that breakfast was needed
While in the kitchen cooking
Always taking requests
Chocolate blueberry pancakes sounded the best
With pancakes on the stove
Aromas in the air
Two sets of tiny feet ran to the dining room chairs
With pancakes in sight
They squealed with delight
Ready to devour their share
While waiting for food
Conversation turned rude
One child shouted "MY PANCAKE, MOVE OVER!"
Knowing her children
Things could get heated
Trying to intervene she said "Move over, then stay seated"
Before she could turn her back
There was a shove a BOOM and a CRACK
Followed by ear splitting screaming
She pulled the cooking pancakes from the stove
Ran through the baby gate and dove
Looking to see if he was bleeding
His forehead was red
Blue and purple bruises already spread
A goose egg was starting to show
Pupils were checked
Tylenol and snuggles were given
Then mom returned to finish up her mission
A few minutes later
One hit the other with a Tow Mater
He fell to the floor
Thus ending the great pancake war
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
*7 billion of us
that’s a lot of mouths
and tummies to fill*
You’re a farmer in Drought Land
(How did I get here? you ask yourself;
How do you farm dry land? we ask you)
and the weeds grow and your crops die
You need water, water, Hard Rain, plenty of Solid Rain
and the chemical engineer
Velasco of Mexico, he got just that for you
It’s powder, baby –
looks like sugar, honey;
10g of Hard Rain absorbs a Liter of Water
and it’ll stay there on your land for a year at the least
*7 billion of us
that’s a lot of mouths
and tummies to fill*
it doesn’t evaporate and only the roots can drink it
It’s Hard Rain going to come, baby -
that’s the promise -
it’s Hard Rain on your Dry Land;
it’s absorbent material -
this polymer, yeah baby, it’s called
potassium polyacrylate
and it’s coming to a dry land near you
it’ll lie on your land, and it’ll feed your crops
and you can sell your veggies to me
and that’ll feed me and my family
we’re just too many mouths to feed, you know,
all the 7 billion of us, baby,
on Planet Earth, on Blue Blue Earth
and maybe I’ll buy some Hard Rain myself too
for my own little Eden in my backyard
Oh, it’s Hard Rain, Hard Rain gonna fall on us all, baby
It’s Hard Rain going to come, baby -
that’s the promise
it’s Hard Rain on your Dry Land
*7 billion of us
that’s a lot of mouths
and tummies to fill*
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
We're not meant to hate. I'm sorry but its true, no matter how much we say we hate someone deep down we know we're lying to ourselves.
You know how Love is the best feeling in the world. Don't you think hate is the alternative to when you're broken or something? Because with Love comes butterflies in our tummies, smiles in our faces, happiness and well thoughts of those you love. So with hate comes furry in our tummies, anger in our hearts, pain and memories of those who hurt us.
So does this mean we hate to remember those we love?
Because we don't really want to forget them?
Eh I think the heat is getting to me over here.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
I am so blessed you know
all my blessed life it's been so
I'm OK, my family is OK
God's chosen to bless me and mine
according to the Law of I Choose Who
I'm so blessed easy and cool:
like the other day, you know,
my neighbour was mocking me
(in spite of my perfect features)
and he was laughing as he crossed the streets
and a car knocked him down at Walk Street -
ha, God flattens mine enemies!
It is a life full of blessings you know -
there are people out there dying of hunger
and bloated tummies and explosions
and Ebola and such
but my family and I God has continued to protect
I am so blessed, I know -
it is a just God
(I am convinced)
who watches over me
Open your hearts
and blessings will pour
on you and your tribes too
There's the law of probability
and the sweep of randomness
- but hey, it's pleasing to know
me and mine are magnificently blessed
*How smooth and easy it is
I can smile at the world in peace and self-satisfaction*
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
born of blood
from a thorn
of a beautiful flower
from the love
of the horned
adorned
in power
cowering
in the vicious
maliciousness
of the constituents
in the deliverance
to my ridiculousness
saw
twisted shapes
and contorting faces
heard
blurred words
displaced
in hateful slurs
of aggression
and i cannot count the cases
in my tasteless confessions
in my reluctant concessions
in my brutal perfection
of my obsessions
imposed against my will
you're supposed to feel
what they do
right?
opposed to killing
for the thrill
but it sometimes
just feels right
shanky gone unscrupulous
shivering
his shimmied
blood on the walls
stuttering stanleys
still silly stringing
calling for candy
but missed last call
and fell to the floor
as Bruno butchered the boar
in a deplorable fashion
a crime of passion
we were hungry
rubbing our tummies
for the honey
of bee hives
jive turkeys
turning to bunnys
for good times
but we were alive
while others were not
fraught with darkling majesty
sparkling at the seraded points
disjointed
in Freudian
ointments
self anointed
as god
standing over
some butchered
brod from abroad
wiping the fog
of dislodged
eye sockets
from my grog
how you get
from there to here
isn't really a fair mirror
on my intention
i meant to
suspend her
just enough
to face f--k
and with luck
strangle her
but she prayed to be ripped down
in her own way
my f--king way
stripped her
of dignity
wimpering
in little cute sounds
who am i?
but the guy
who spaced
hit her
too many times in the face
and replaced her
facelessness
with ***** toiletries
disappointingly
underwhelmed
still in search of a fairy
to take the helm
and ferry me
from this film
disparagingly
just spare me
the tragedy and grief
blaring from the TV
as i mock
their expressions
in my lessons
of humanity
before the flock
to shelter
my anxiety or not
gonna be
a real boy one day
and conform
to the
wayward ways
the way
of sheep
sleeping
soundly
in decay
blue fairy
gonna
marry me
one
day
be
real
one
day
one
day
1
d
a
y
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
Jasmine rice and green tea
Sambuca and coffee
Cigarettes and ***
Whiskey and scary movies
Cigars and wine
Lap dances and nature walks
Tattoos and Vanilla lips
Ripped jeans and strawberries
Summer nights and smeared lipstick
Strong arms and weak hearts
Tall legs and short tempers
Cappuccino and thick tummies
Piercings and snow storms
Hot chocolate and fireplaces
Sweat pants and afternoon naps
Early mornings with no where to go
Boys and girls who kiss super slow
Conversations that give you butterflies
Staying in bed all day
Crying for hours
Feeling your collar bones
Watching scars fade away
Skinny dipping
Stretching
Laughing
Falling in love
Or out of hate
With yourself
Or anyone else
And
Ya know
People are always ******* tripping over ****
If all else fails, at least look for that
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
Hypocrite tournament
put the hippos in a
tourniquet
Turnt a bit
too turned up
Two ton tummies
summo wrestling,
who will win?
Mounted champion
munching on
mountains:
A hypo-hippo-perbole
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
Strange danger, awaits around not the corner, but within ourselves.
The danger is present in every crevasse of our being.
No we do not possess the danger to wreak havoc upon ourselves.
It is as dangerous as a thunder storm in July.
When fireworks should be booming, spelling out words, and making us dream, just like Walt Disney.
There should be pies and pies and only pies, because why not have only pies.
They should be of all kinds blue, red, purple, orange the taste of a rainbow should rest in our tummies.
Everyone that passes by won't wonder how did they get so many pies, they will wonder, can I have some?
And I will tell them, why are you asking, the pies are begging to be eaten, can't you see?
Because in July when there should be Thunder storms, not this day, I offer you pie.
There will be no mistreating, no mistaking, no one will pronounce your name as cobbler in this day.
And when all the mighty and delicious pies that were never mistaken for cobbler, are gone.
All will know this was some very special day in July. Where the thunder storms stopped.
Where someone just as special as those pies, but probably not as delicious.
Came to give us all what we were craving, and represented it with pie.
To those that weren't there, they will always think, pie pie pie I wonder what was so unique about this pie.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
beautiful women are not women
with flat stomachs
beautiful women are not women
with perfectly perfect white teeth
beautiful women are not women
with airbrush skin
beautiful women are not women
who's hair is not even their own
beautiful women are beautiful
because of their pudgy tummies
beautiful women are beautiful
because of their crooked teeth
beautiful women are beautiful
because of their moles, scars, and freckles
beautiful women are beautiful
because of their hair that explodes in rain
and cannot be tamed with a hair brush
beautiful women.
there are so many in the world.
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 8:58 AM UTC
Tonight, lanterns will swing freely like me, brassiere-less and glowing
Steam growing misty around my eyes,
My hair all pulled up, my bangs sticking to my forehead.
Lanterns will swing freely and the light will escape from them and create
Patterns on the glossy sidewalk
Plaster-white sidewalk with only a few pieces of black gum.
Lanterns will swing and patterns will dance and mirrors will tarnish
With time, green or brown, with cracks.
Until, perhaps, one day I shall not be able to see myself in them
My reflection might be murky and indistinguishable from that of a tree
Or a root
Or a dog
Or any other lonely person.
Tonight, the mirrors will crack and the glass will collect dust and piggy-banks will be left unshaken
Their promises unfulfilled,
Leaving empty tummies and sunken-welled eyes.
Tonight, the lanterns may swing free but the lightbulbs inside will be trapped,
Emaciated and skillfully looking for ways to break the glass.
Tonight, men will cry and mothers will mourn for themselves
And decisions will be decided
And switches will be flicked
And dancing will illuminate the gum
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 8:16 PM UTC
Wearing scars
Like the ones on her guitar
Boys make tools
Girls wear flowers in their hair
Wild dogs yelp at the passing train
Sun bathing tummies
And lazy day songs play
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
Its just a scratch
Just blame the cat.
Its just a cut,
Just cover the mark.
Perhaps the use of accessories will do
Oh don't be humble, wear a few,
A dozen more than just one or two
Ignore the curious stares, their inquisitive glares,
Don't be so foolish to think they'd actually care.
Go home little girl, and lock your doors,
Rummage through your drawers and slit a couple more.
Do it quickly, the pain will be over in a jiffy.
There's no need to worry about mommy and daddy,
they're too busy filling their greedy tummies
Pathetic little girl, horizontal lines won't get the job done.
Try vertical ones.
Aim for your artery, can you feel it pulsing?
One little **** and it'll all be over in a wink.
Poor mommy and daddy, they're more concerned about the funeral bills
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 10:17 PM UTC