Porridge
Too hairy to be a lady
Too soft to be a man
Too fit to be a fatty
Too happy with my body
Too nice to be a loner
Too aloof to keep them there
Too open to be a book,
Never flipped, never closed
Too earnest to be a lover
Too intimate for a friend
Too sad
Too mad
Too bitter
Too glad
Call me
Porridge, goldy—
You’re never going to be satisfied.