My Girl

I guess I just wanna feel needed, she said.
No, I replied, you just want to need.
My Girl
My girl is a porcelain doll with a split lip.
My girl says she’s a fighter but
More likely she likes the beat down.
My girl’s got gardens on her hands;
Dirt under her nails and
Roses on her knuckles.
My girl’s got witchy hands.
My girl doesn’t solve problems,
She doesn’t play the fiddle,
Just dances in the flames.
My girl’s too scared to get a tongue ring,
But I know she jumps off cliffs for fun.
My girl refuses to learn from mistakes
Broken mirrors and condoms,
Broken ribs and windows.
She’s flown down flights of stairs
And run back up them again.
My girl eats asphalt.
She licks up those yellow lines,
She’s hungry for pavement,
And can’t be satisfied,
With these country roads.