Put up the walls around me, brothers.
Guard my budding acorn breasts—
Ever too young for love’s harsh torn moments,
Never ready for the pain.
Never ripe enough for this—
The naïve let down of words so false,
Mis-spoken? Or misunderstood eternally?
Are they ever rent with one man’s gain?
Put the walls back up for me, brothers?
Protect the city that dreams
And wishes with fragile, counterfeit pennies!
Some other time we’ll paint my room,
And cover the fairies and unicorns black
With thick Kilz, so that none of those
Childish hopes ever bleed through again.
-jenn long
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