Poetry Daily
I walk into a room
I say
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
They send me to eat in the kitchen
They'll see how beautiful I am
Then they swarm around me,
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black,
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
I hear the bright bee hum
Ever serene and fair,
And all this is folly to the world
