Broken Body Blues
Are they insecure?
When pinch their core
they're feeling more than what they're pinching for,
So they winch a cinch around their brittle sore middle core
and winch it inches
tighter just a little more,
Hoping to be pretty for a fickle boar in Chris Dior.
Its a civil war,
their mind against their heart,
Will they win at all?
Or will we let them trip and fall fifty floors,
Ripped and torn before they even hit the floor.
Even Ripley's swore
he'd never a thing like this before,
I know its hard to be happy,
With surrounding doubt,
Theirs a mountain to the clouds of people shouting to the ground,
That you must 'fit their mould'
to be outstanding in the crowd,
And so they're drowning us in doubt.
And they're drowning us in doubt.
But you're good enough.
Inch for inch and pound for pound.
They'll stamp you down, until south of your mouth
is down beneath council's ground,
Before your mouth pronounced a vowel sound,
its foul. So climb free.
Share This Poem