bags

the bags under my eyes

and the ones under my arm

make me feel older

toting my fatigue and books

i must find my place in the world

after all these years

of searching

dreaming again of

that open highway

but with no one to share it with

i stomp on the gas pedal

and throw it into fifth

leaving my golden cage

listing off my vices

i’ll never be the girl

who is happy to do your ironing

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