armpits smell like limeade now
food smacks of rotten tooth.
it's too unproved to say it, yea?
blankity blankity verse.
you know when's the last time i wrote a poem?
i've never written a poem.
how moved i was along the bank:
dad asked to hear me read
even more than i'd planned to read.
and it lightened far away.
my foot has cracked its foot-spine line
and i knotted when i ran.
i have stretch marks where my butt inflated
the day i turned fourteen.
this must be where i stop wondering
what the internet would think.
there's burnt beet sugar smell choking the house
but i'm going to eat the beets.
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