my skinny legs to match my jeans
my hide-behinds that help gather my beans
my palpitations that render me lean
my page that is torn up by the dean
my scrubs to keep the insides clean
my flights insisting that i have been
my larva that i pour onto my kin
my lows very much in their teens
my words are as direct as is seen
my search for purposeful amnesia and requiem
my legs will outgrow my tight-fitting jeans
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