Anybody who does not feel or feels only furtively the anguish, nausea and horror commonly felt by young girls in the last century is not susceptible to these emotions, but equally there are people whom such emotions limit.
From nowhere we could dance
And sing, unmixed up in
The stupid and real need
To tell it all but tell it not all
At once but very slowly
While more sensible days gather
To sew us in their leather pocket.
Why won’t you come back?
Where’ve you been?
You got here nine months ago
Still feeling super bummed out.
The earth bums me out you said,
Painting over its little mirror.