when did i become a coffee over tea kind of girl?

the walk slow, look up, look down and observe kind of girl?

the kind of girl who sings on the sidewalk

poorly, perhaps, but still singing

as if she had the kind of voice you'd want to play loudly on your radio

because appearances aren't everything, no. not even close.

my feet, arched high appear graceful

but really, they thud and stomp through the day,

just a little unattractive in the most attractive way

and my skin, pulled tight over my bones,

is pallid and soft

as if the sun never did shine

in this town, or any town for that matter.

my lips are cracked and they bleed these words

and my small hands try to catch them before they drip

and stain

this pressure makes the bleeding worse

and still, these words remain.