I'm accepting I'm not living that younger, dreamed version of myself in the big city.
You make me feel like a candy apple, red and horny.
I don't like to sit and bask in my own awards. Awards represent artistic death to me.
I like women who can throw a ball and laugh loud and have some spine, and I like men who don't mind cooking dinner.
Feminists were psyched that I had armpit hair
I've left Bethlehem, and I feel free. I've left the girl I was supposed to be, and some day I'll be born.