i'm told to think smarter not harder
but my gears are so burned out
i'm the love child of secondhand smoke
i like to dress up before i break
the prettier you look the easier it is to hide tears
i stand alone too often
my expertise became blending into off-white bricks
choking on the words stuck in my mouth
they still can't hear me
my lips painted like van gogh
hand out 'i love you' as if i'm getting rid of valentine's day chocolate
now i look and wonder
if i had replaced my tea with something stronger
i practice my handwriting so i somehow feel prettier
someway i turn cherry soda into crack
i'm told i'm a catch
but i float along
like a fish in gasoline
(a.g.r)
