seventh grade dance
still
stuck
on the side
lines melting
into scenery
i open
clumsy
big
fat
mouth
words spill
wine on
neutral carpet
territory
dinner party
or france
and you feel
crawling back shell
keratin cool
and its late
die cast
been found out
square peg and glued
eyelids and can't
shove myself
back into this
thin
skin
wound self
inflicted
alone
wishing
that i could be
anyone
but
me.
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