Like, Everyone’s Tired Of the Beats ok

I wish I were a sweet
Somnambulant blonde
With friends in spades,
Waist like the middle of
A pointy carrot
Cheeks hollow but rosy
Lips that gloss on their own
So that when I get on stage
To sputter
The kinds of truths only
War age record players
Your face would drop
Surprise rushing, coloring
Each freckle north of your mouth
A Victoria Secret magenta
i’d color you impressed
my velvet voice would
Fill you with
oohs and ahs
And some buddy holly glasses
wearing fedoras and bowler hats
like tiaras in a court full of jesters
Would secretly hate me
Every hat’s nose
Pointing to a latitude parallel
To their neck
Because this pretty girl
Made all their lips quiver.

I wish I were a sweet
Somnambulant blonde
But I am wiry like the innards
Of those WWII
Record players,
For their memory longevity
I am a curve
That you hold in your mouth like
I only drink espresso
I look like a brunette even with bleached hair
My eyebrows are warm
Electric caterpillars
My fingers are trained
To flick cigarettes,
And they are yellowed like the page
My body is illustrated
As i attempt to resemble
A book
the sheets lose glue
at the spine
the words
Cling to my pores like
The effervescent barnacles
Of the Pequod.
I am missing a corner tooth
That no one ever notices
I wear crimson lips
Or blue or purple
I have a limp
Goddamn, so much character.

But i wish i were
A sweet somnambulant blonde
So that the jesters
Don’t think me passe
So I can fucking surprise


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