seventeen is tired and true

you know i see the exhaust and fume,

that america’s eighty percent highway

on which every sign is from God

you’re twenty zested limes in a room

twenty adults straight from the womb

They put a roof over your head

painting everything white

teaching termites to have at the house

exterminating them at the first bite

now i can’t cry without command

my body is betraying my better head

i can’t look at my hand

and see what i saw in my head

where the Men are stationed and manned,

quartered in my head,

laying in my bed while making a stand

They taught me to fight but

my battle with tears

wasn’t one i wanted to win