i walked up the chipped old grey stairs tonight, alone.
thinking about the scary tannish spiky spider
and what he might do to me.
but then i relaxed
and thought about all the faces i have forgotten
what if they remember mine?
if only i could play the harp
and distract from those moments together
when we were all chasing some promise
how many men have told me i am beautiful?
how many meant it?
most care more for what is below than above.
i prefer to run free.
sparkle about the eyes.
those sort of things.
because i am so bored,