The light in my eyes grew more dim

As my womanly curves began sprouting—

Even the pollinators craved the taste of me—

A cherry blossom in the throes of her first spring.

So fragrant that I want to pluck myself.

Opening my petals took courage

That I was not born with—

Yet I drank it

Like it was liquid gold,

Coating my vocal chords in honey

To sing a syrupy song.

I thought a choir of angels accompanied me,

But at the center of the stage,

All I am is the king’s joker.

Recite a limerick

Or it’s off with my head.

Perhaps I’ll say hello to Aunt Jane’s sister-wives on the way down.

My common sense kept rolling in ways my hips envied.

I chased it into sobriety the next morning

And woke up to everything out of place.