11/23/15

Mon, 11/23/2015 - 13:13 -- heberle

When people lock their gaze,

Point their flame,

Aim their guns,

At my being

What do I do?

The men want her number

The men want me gone

Ugly, stupid, fat, ugly, stupid, fat- bitch.

Figure of lines,

Face of melted wax,

Maybe that’s what catches their gaze

Just too disgusting to keep around

That’s me, I just know it.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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