Bowling. The hatred.
I don't even like bowling.
I don't think anyone does.
It's a big conspiracy theory, with Pins and Broken fingernails and humiliation.
My mother seems like the kind of person who can bowl;
Growing up in bars and all...
But she's slipped into my clown shoes and her ball lives in the gutter.
It seems to by happy there.
I bowled with James once.
Over-exaggerated the swing of his leg and twisted his body in half.
I wanted to kiss his strained for-arms and his 3 fingers embedded into the holes of the stone
or marble
or whatever these balls are made of.
I wish he was with me.
All men can bowl. Where do you find the pride in your strike when ever
XY chromosone can do the same?
It's a man's world here in the bowling ally.
I wish mine wasn't tethered into a toy soldier costume
Little kids pointing: "Look mommy, a DOLL!"
Back off Kiddo, he's my doll and I'll fuck you up for touching him.
Stab you in your little blue eye.
I don't think anyone does.
It's a big conspiracy theory, with Pins and Broken fingernails and humiliation.
My mother seems like the kind of person who can bowl;
Growing up in bars and all...
But she's slipped into my clown shoes and her ball lives in the gutter.
It seems to by happy there.
I bowled with James once.
Over-exaggerated the swing of his leg and twisted his body in half.
I wanted to kiss his strained for-arms and his 3 fingers embedded into the holes of the stone
or marble
or whatever these balls are made of.
I wish he was with me.
All men can bowl. Where do you find the pride in your strike when ever
XY chromosone can do the same?
It's a man's world here in the bowling ally.
I wish mine wasn't tethered into a toy soldier costume
Little kids pointing: "Look mommy, a DOLL!"
Back off Kiddo, he's my doll and I'll fuck you up for touching him.
Stab you in your little blue eye.