Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words will never hurt me?
You are so right
Instead they tear at my confidence
I feel utterly defeated
But the worse part is
These words
The ones that now circle in my head
Like vultures quickly to the dead
They originated in my own head
Words I began to say to myself
And decided they had the invitation to stay forever
Oh, it breaks my heart
How can I ask them to leave?
When I am the one
Who invited them over to play

I need to repaint my room
turn the walls to ash
I am no longer that girl
who loved yellow
and smiled at flowers

I want a dark room
to reflect to I am
to uninvite every feeling of happiness
that ever walked through that door

I want to escape
into my black hole
and destroy myself
in my own home

Let me tear the flowers off
and the bright pink boarder
I know it was a lot of work
but I will never be her

I will never be the girl
who smiled all the time
that girl was ***** and murdered
a long time ago

Now I ask again
Can I repaint my room
Turn the walls to ash
and make it my own home

(alternately titled no particular reason:
bring unto “fake” trumpeting Caesar
seven salad dressings from deep freezer
and lettuce deign at your plea azure.)

Graced with boyish good looks,
innocence and naiveté to boot,
an especial loathing toward me
chicken legs re: spindleshanks

(which serve as laughingstock
of dis hair reed ole coot)
oft times clad with deep purple
polka dotted sweatpants
don this nontrumpeting galoot

Asian old wise owl chimes utters
embarrassing non repeatable hoot
thus even bestowed with ample loot
to purchase peloton bike
would be laudatory suggestion,

nevertheless vigorous exercise point iz moot
cuz said skinny limb foregone conclusion
impossible mission anatomical feature aye
(nor anyone else could ever troubleshoot).

See them dang toothpick
aforementioned limbs used walking
permanently stunted courtesy anorexia nervosa,
I experienced during prepubescence
comprises subject of mooch talking
especially if yours truly wore shorts,
or even daresay skivvies out in public.

Both above listed portion of poem I write
surprisingly, truthfully, and
aye preferably, and uncomfortably uninvite
today (night) May 12th, actually tonight
electronically date/time stamped
05/12/20  10:06:21 PM

presented scary sight
regarding every other
regular instance I showered
as occurred earlier... quite
lamentable, these twiggy
body parts give Lesley Hornby

Dame Lesley Lawson DBE
blink to fast, and she becomes an oversight
born September 19, 1949
still going strong, flitting light
to and fro, hither and yon
an English model, actress, and singer,

renown during the nineteen sixties
approximately 5′ 6″ in height
widely known by the nickname Twiggy
get a serious a run for her money
totally unbeknownst to her
if so, she would serious take flight.

Matthew Scott Harris bejesus, he tried
(think self starvation)
nearly successful being unseen,
yours truly set his permanent physique
as one wimpy, scraggly, and nerdy teen

unlike above faded former star
regaled as Twiggy on silver screen,
yet his posthumous fifteen
minutes of fame encompasses
poetic style like (like for real) never seen

arose during 2020 pandemic
i.e. coronavirus CPVID-19 quarantine
and commenced quirky endeavor
crafting slapdash poetaster philistine

nonsensical, heretical (rather hair reticle),
and atypical ridiculous rhyme
wondering if ye keen
find any redeeming quality
courtesy this human haz been.