Purple is in a ghastly mood and I am tired of putting up with her crap.

She calls me crazy,

refuses to be seen with me when I step out my door in my tiara.

My eyes are diamonds and my lips are freaks, I tell her.

You will have to live with my fashions.

Purple peels right off my dress and down the road,

And suddenly I am a museum of skin

beneath the glass of a transparent dress.

I shimmy.

Blue leaves his porch and says,

You need someone who will treat you right.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s