when life gives you lemons

mix that tartness with vodka

to cut the taste

highlight those broken teeth

with blood red lipstick

cover the scars with jailhouse ink

it’s all relative in this game

a monopoly created by the state

by the cheerleaders

by the sober

i see the maps on the wall

i see the words carved on the bedpost

at my debutante ball

i will rock these imperfections

i will not be clad in white

no demure gloves for me

i want to leave these bloody fingerprints

on all that i see

staining the cleanlinee of

their conscience

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