According to Seventeen magazine:
You should present your thighs like filet mignon
in a miniskirt standing under the lamppost
just after .
Barbeque sauce would help
if it had less carbs.
Who says your soul rents space in your forehead?
Why doesn’t it linger behind your knees
or drive up the interstate of your vertebrae?
Sierra Visher told you in fourth grade
that you had a pancake nose and
it flattened when you laughed.
So you stopped laughing in elementary school.
Sometimes if you flare them in front of the mirror
you can look up your nasal passages
right into your brain.
Your brother will later tell you
that those are just boogers.
Your hips are Darwinian and luscious.
Get dark red lipstick and a pencil skirt.
Keep all your notes in a Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper.
When you get unwanted attention,
just swing your hips surreptitiously to the side,
and bounce your opponents to the moon.
Oxygen pulls you in and out,
A deflating balloon.
What else do you keep inside?
Phone numbers, candy canes,
Second hand smoke?