a really bad poem that means well

laughs and ((hugs)) hell maybe even some drugs
that’s what my bitches could be made of…

margaritas, potato juice, whiskey and gin
oh that’s what my bitches are pickled in…
(well there’s the one who likes latte’s but her liver’s already in)

babies and men (when they show or behave), shoes and the pen
that’s much of my bitches days are made of

bedazzled shivs, cakes with shanks and matching sequined shorts & tanks
that’s what my bitches make a fight of

funny and strong, wounded and healed, fierce, scarred and talented
that’s for sure what my bitches are…

well, there was this one from nantucket… but, we shived her and threw her in the river.

thanks for makin my day bitches… jazz hands!

 

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About Sars

I am the full time rider/conductor of the Bi-Polar Express (2.oh!) Welcome to my ride. Please keep hands and feet inside the pretty pink car at all times, for your safety of course. Rose colored glasses are not only encouraged, but required.
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