Mostly Jane

Mostly Jane was a woman
Who found peace in no man
And mostly Jane was a thinker
Who wondered who’s got her back?
And why black meant the blues

Sometimes she’d listen to Billy
Croon familiar tunes
That kept her misery in sync
With the rise and fall
Of each broken heart song

Sometimes she’d just sit back and think
Of daddies slipping tongues and pricks
To little girls who made them tricks
Of how words like foster and family and mother
Could be spoken in the same phrase

Sometimes she wished for better days
When memories weren’t nightmares
She’d rock herself and hold her crying soul
And wish for a man who cares
All the while inside
Where her gloom resides
Her body readied itself for it’s doom

Cause the walls of her room
Were becoming her tomb
As she tried all the while not to think
Cause most of all
Sweet Jane
Would drink

Jessica Holter

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