Hey Boy Acoustic, That Song Was Wondroustic Poem by Jena Crowe

it's a million little pricks to my heart
the way the strings speak in tongues
if only I could dance the way they do
without feeling like there's toilet paper
stuck to my shoe
and everyone is in the room waiting for me
to slip and fall
in front of you
a steel toed boot? vans, if it's 1982...

you'd smile and call me crazy
ask me to get up, shake off the bugs
in everyone's stare- you'd stay with me there
we'd share a plate of frustrated nachos,
throw darts at awkward glances,
make fun of all the dances-
but eventually
we'd sit and talk,
creating monumental magic.