The bitch Didn't ask her to the party, Made her feel like a piece of old shit, On the bottom Of her Peacocks 3.99 sandals. Jealousy, Is a cruel , cruel thing, Especially When you're 7 years old.
I lost my poem, I had it earlier. Written out so neatly, on a pad, With my favourite writing pencil, The one with the black and grey stripes And the paint missing near the letters HB. Where my teeth had chewed in frustration,
Are you brave enough, to come, He whispered, teasing my ear. Jump on, Let me take you, For a ride, show you danger. Open your eyes. And I went, Not because I wanted or needed his pleasure, But because I was young, so vibrant and fresh,
I remember Most things, Such as When it didn't matter If my legs were waxed, Or my armpits shaved, You would love me anyway. I remember Being able to eat cream cakes, Without You saying 'straight to the hips'.