Pinky Promise

I was taking the long way, and I thought about my mother.
I sing all damned awful and paint a smile on her cigarette,
but not in her breath; she Miss understands.
I love her to (too close to) death… that’s quite heavy!
Take a breath, we’re still young.

Then I thought about my father… how strange.
I hardly think about the faces I don’t see every day,
unless they’d left some kind of mark,
or took the makeup right off of me.
That’s supposed to be gone, though, I’ve learned rock hard.

my pale tummy and Mulan ambition; that’s
more than what I’m still to learn,
and more than what four years will teach;
one doctorate for me, please.

my blue-eyed goober wants to shoot for the moon,
but he has asthma.

I hope to the Universe that I land among the Stars,
or just any one.

I want Witzigreuter fame
but not enough to snatch it, awake.

No more photos like their 2009,
I guess group friendships dull away

I gave you my piano finger,
now give me yours,
so that I know a word is backed by time,
so that I know what I deserve