Ourselves as liars.

Imagine

there are two sides to every story,

sometimes three, four,

most times there are twelve.

It depends,

on who we are, who we’ve been

and who we’re trying to be,

like auditioning for a role.

And it’s easy to say,

that you never tell a lie,

or that I’m always wrong.

If I were to believe that,

if you, are so able to believe that

then, clearly

somebodies a liar.

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Listening to Old Country Songs on Women’s Day

You don’t even have to read between the lines.

With all their talk about cold, cold hearts,
bouncing between heartache and chord progression
like a broken record, it’s apparent
why these yodeling old cowboys are obsolete.

Did they ever really sound that good in their time?

At least the melodies sound good, silly boys
if I could remove your voice, I would,
and in its place insert the songs of a woman,
who’s light shines brighter than your sorrow.

Mercedes-Benz –┬ánow that’s a song with heart.

Child’s play.

She let the boys touch her after school.

Built well with a push-up bra to boot.

She wore her t-shirt a size too small.

And cheap checkered flannel pants.

The kind grandma might gift from Walmart.

And peaking out her behind was a white thong.

After school she’d let the boys touch.

Under covers, in her room, before her mother got off work.

If they got too close to her privates, she’d gently shy away.

Maneuvering her legs just enough to disengage the boys hand.

Leaving them embarrassed because she did have rules.

She wasn’t a whore.

After school the boys would touch her.

And being 2 years younger she gave them a false sense of adulthood.

A dominance that is eventually debunked with age.

It wasn’t until they got older that things began to change.

People’s opinions started to effect those early adolescent days of childhood teasing.

And over time the boys graduated and went off to college.

But the boys her age didn’t want to touch her after school.

She was branded a slut by the girls in her grade.

And promiscuous by the adults in the neighborhood.

It didn’t bother her that much though.

Only sometimes, at night, when she couldn’t fall asleep.

So she’d close her eyes and count like sheep.

The boys she let touch her after school.