If only this bratty chatty would just stfu and leave.....
Another failed mission in Missoula, an attempt to be charmed by my old friends
(but they're not my friends. how disappointing!)
I had hoped that the stars and bells of ringing it all in
were just clattering noise, distracting us all
I had hoped that my old ugly self had been left down south
And yet I find myself, queer in a funny way
Carting around some crystal dildo
Trailing behind my much older
much wiser
much more compelling sister
How will I know when I am loved?
Will it only be a self - nurturing sense of accomplishment?
When all the old has seeped out and finally I am wrung out dry
On the good days when the acne hides
On the warm nights when my tits are high
Before the love letters get sent
I'll be cherishing the glow of youth
And once the mail comes?
The male goes.
Ugh. twenty fucking twelve.
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