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April 14, 2016


I built myself up from broken parts
but an autoclave is a good place to start
the more I write, the more I feel like a fraud:
playing with fire, not praying to a god

They say hell is a place where the devil makes
something you love into something you hate
but I have grown happy in ruts of repetitive shame

But I've got good bones

I tore myself down into broken parts,
this well-oiled machine was a good place to start:
pep-talks wasted in prep school --
that ego-stroking cesspool

left me with spit-shine on these new shoes,
I never wore them right so I sing my blues:
Security is expensive,
Im on a conveyer belt to a life I don't want to live:

"Bootstraps," "the American dream,"
Well I've spent enough time with gravel in my knees
to know these streets aren't gold
they're asphalt and concrete

Your suffering is not unique,
trade comfort for sweat and trade blood in for ink
I've got good bones

Aesthetically, I cannot compete
My muscles have near atrophied
But I've got good bones


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