One-hundred and Thirty-four: My Bitch

You were supposed to be my bitch.
Five full moons
and four punches later
and I’m not convinced.

But then Hope says, Dude,
you are the queen supreme of ten.
Your skin is fricking elastic;
shit gets thrown but
look how it bounces off.
You don’t fall down,
you just shout fuck you a little bit louder.

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Published by

Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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