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Worst food forward

come to me in your
most worn-out
dress, don’t even
bother for cologne, i
wouldn’t mind.

greet me with your
morning breath
and kiss me while
you’re at it, i
wouldn’t blink.

don’t bother packing
those bags under your
eyes, or hiding that
pimple or two.
leave that oil film
in its box.

come to me,
worst foot forward.
come to me and dance
’til your best comes
waltzing forward.

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