i'm often pressured to rinse my mouth clean,
when it's contents are little more than grit.
i need to swill an elixir serene,
something more liquid than my ash-filled spit.
i'm told i should lust after something cool,
a tonic that could purify my tongue.
oftentimes i speak just like a fool.
my words erupt, from inside out they're flung.
but if i have to drink an antidote
that's purpose is to rid my mouth of sound
i'd rather suffer from an arid throat
than forfeit scripts potentially profound.
apologies to whom my grit offends;
but candor is on what my life depends.
Bethenny Frankel is still at the beach
1 year ago