This tight fisted anxiety has been a close side kick
I was small, had a tiny nose, little wrists and the blondest hair
this side of adolescence.
Inside: a bundle of angry bees SCREAMING and flying hard against my heart
trying to get loose.
A nervous little Nelly with snaggle teeth.
Here I am now;
bad skin, terrible fingernails and a flat chest -
still struggling with this son-a-bitch sad song.
I bite his face off;
he turns around and whispers some shit about
some god-damned gritty scare tactics;
Low Blow, I say.
And welcome him back to life with the open arms he needs to thrive;
he even invites his friends.