i'm a second hand smoker
a back seat driver
the third wheel
i hear in mono
i walk a little slow
it takes me a long time to heal
perfect is a far cry from here
money does not grow in my wallet
ambition is not my staple
beauty is not my mark
two hours of sleep never did me any favors
but then again, neither did you while i was awake
naw, i think you were better in my dreams
there all these seams make sense
the best article of clothing i got
stenched in smoke
stained by patterns that do not adhere
the perfect loud to be inappropriate
different
not a pretty girl
the just-right quiet hush to hear the wind blow through this skirt
this fucking hurts
this poetry
my muscles
doing the right thing
right
right
there's no magic here
i've never been that pretty
never fit in that picture frame
not my claim to fame
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