Monday, November 22, 2010
Peter, Bjorn and lost
one, two, breath.
I look to you for supposed inspiration.
Instead, I hug my ovaries,
and pray for children, nothing like you.
or anyone that has the capability for making me
I know I shouldn’t be thinking of the
But it’s hard!
As I feel my hormones casting a mold over me,
and reality so happily,
to set Kiwi
in a clay form
of vengeful hate.
That is why I tell the Mothership “STOP!”
I am far to battered and bitter a woman,
to be ready to grow a new life force.
No more talk of new,
must reconnect with the old,
and then maybe, once forgiven,
will I let the new me
commiserate with the old me.
I sleep lonely,
kissing stars and wishing I were homely.