Filters

A kind of
Asylum
A final
Arrival
A lightness
A servant
Of many

Anyway you want to put it
Anyway you want to be
My hair caught the sun
Like an inferno
On the avenue
They liked it
But your hair
Is back behind
Your ears
Sizzling in oil
My hair caught the sun
Look at me
Through glass now
You must see
Some of you
Looking back
So it can't
Be that bad

Anyway you want to put it
Anyway you want to be

I got comments
My legs
Were purple
They said
It was worth
Smiling for
You smiled too
But your legs
Are lunging
In terror