11/23/15
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