Terri's Cellar Door

Stuff that happens to me, Terri.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Who Knows?

Apparently that's my new catch phrase, because I say it about every five seconds. Anyway, so I wrote this a long time ago, and as I still like it, and I'm dedicated to posting more than every other bicenquintennial, I figured I'd post a poem that I wrote. Yeah, I wrote it, wanna fight about it? Sometimes. Even if you in a benz, you still a nigga in a coupe.

Please don't hate me.
I'm not that smart, or that pretty in real life.
I'm not thin at all.
These aren't my real teeth.
This isn't my real hair.
My eyes aren't this color.
My boobs aren't this big.
My nails aren't long, my lips aren't red.
When I'm asleep, I drool a little bit and I snore a lot.
I take too long in the bathroom.
My bed is never made.
I pick my nose when no one is looking.
And my pinky toe is a weird color.
And I wish you loved me.

--Matches. Malone.


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