Floor it, Beautiful.
You’re too safe for car wrecks.
Bite those nails like Mommy told you not to.
Go tell someone off.
Let beautiful people take your breath away.
Stop settling.

The man with the pretty cheeks can’t help you now.
You are half-caught between Southern arms
And mommy’s firm grip.

You owe happy to that canoe on the lake that listened to your fears.
And the island near by that held your hand to get over them.

Like barbecue summers and graduation gowns
You buzz like last season’s flashlight face
And convenience store protégés
That vomit comedy and then days of silence
Followed up by comedy and more days of silence.
The two of you would be perfect if it weren’t for the quiet.

Keep the quiet.
You’re perfect.